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A 

STRUGGLE 


A STORY IN FOUR PARTS. 


by 

BARNET 'Phillips. 





NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON ANP COMPANY, 
549 AND 551 BROADWAY. 

1878. 



COPTEIGHT BY 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 


A STRUGGLE. 


PART I. 

SKIRMISH. 

{From Mademoiselle Pauline Delange to Ma- 
dame de Montfriand.) 

Chateau St.-Eloi, Vosges, July ^ 1870. 

Whenever I see you, dearest Clemence, you 
shall receive a thousand kisses. The packages 
came yesterday. What you have sent me is su- 
perb, and selected with that delicate appreciation 
of shade and color which only a Parisienne as you 
are has at her fingers’-ends. Now, quite naturally 
— for Madame la Comtesse de Montfriand cannot 
differ so much from my own Clemence du Parc — 
that little vein of curiosity must still exist, and 
the question will have arisen in her mind, “ What 
does that plain and quiet Pauline want with this 
accumulation of finery ? ” The texture of the 
drap dj'ete is fairy-like, and the nuance charming. 


4 


A STRUGGLE. 


The riding-habit is simply adorable^ and fits me 
divinely ; and the hat — oh, the dear hat ! With- 
out my horse, for it rained in torrents yesterday, 
and it is too muddy for me to venture out to- 
day, yesterday I put on the whole costume, gath- 
ered up the trailing skirt, and, whip in hand, went 
galloping up and down one of our long corri- 
dors. 

Now learn, madame, that we are to have no 
end of guests at the chateau. That is your an- 
swer. Notwithstanding all the clouds which dis- 
turb the political horizon, and those rumors of 
war, which papa thinks are so absurd, an unusual 
number of people have been invited. Papa’s old- 
est friend, and my godfather. General de Frail, 
we expect to-day. The general has been sta- 
tioned in the neighboring department for the last 
three weeks. It is intimated that the general is 
coming to St.-Eloi on a special tour of inspection, 
for he has attached to him, as his military family, 
a whole itat-major — in fact, some dozen ofiicers at 
the very least. Of course, this Cavalcade will not 
live in the house, but will be quartered in the 
town. But these gentlemen will be sure to be at 
the chateau most of the time, as papa has given 
the general the library, and all the rooms in the 
wing adjoining it. Undoubtedly our poor cha- 
teau of St.-Eloi will be resplendent with epaulets, 
and spurs will be ringing on the stairs, and swords 
will be found littering the fauteuils. Papa is in 


SKIRMISH. 


5 


grand spirits, as he has an immense contract for 
all kinds of iron from the government. 

Madame de Yalhois, an old friend of my poor 
mother, who says she nursed me when I was born, 
when my poor mother died, arrived here a week 
ago. M. Raoul de Yalhois, her cherished son, ac- 
companied her. M. de Yalhois you know about 
already, at least by hearsay. I may have spoken 
to you about him. M. de Yalhois has just re- 
turned from the East, where he was an attach^ to 
the Persian legation. The gentleman is not, how- 
ever, the least bit Oriental. He assured me that 
in Ispahan he lived precisely as he would have done 
in Paris, and that he trained a Persian to become a 
perfect concierge. There could have been no dif- 
ference, I suppose, for M. de Yalhois, save that he 
did not have his morning papers, his club, and his 
airing at the Bois. M. de Yalhois has brought 
with him a superb Persian hound. He is hand- 
some and tyrannical (the dog, I mean), for this 
morning the big brute flew at Bobe, a little terrier 
of mine, and wanted to eat him up. But Bobe 
is bravery itself, and would rather have died than 
have run away. 

I do not know whether I have spelled my fun- 
ny little dog’s name rightly. I half suspect it 
should be Bobb. Whether this stands for an ab- 
breviation of the English Robert, or is a common 
term for an animal with a very short tail, I do not 
know, for both explanations have been given me. 


6 


A STEUGGLE. 


Bobe, then, who is crouching at my feet, will 
serve to introduce somebody else, not exactly one 
of our guests, but rather a member of papa’s work- 
ing family, for papa has some six hundred and 
odd men at the forge. This person is an invalid, 
and on the sick-list. You know how original papa 
is ; sOj when he insisted on bringing into the house 
one of his contre-maitres,^ of course I had nothing 
to say. You have heard how papa was once a 
poor graduate at the Ecole des Mines, and went to 
the United States in search of his fortune. Papa 
would have died there of fever had it not been for 
some American acquaintances, who nursed him, 
and sent him home to France. , When papa came 
to Alsace he started a modest foundery, which has 
grown and grown, until to-day behold me the 
daughter of the largest iron-manufacturer in the 
Vosges, and papa a deputy ! Well, there is a 
kind of lingering tenderness which papa indulges 
in toward Americans, who are not to me the most 
prepossessing people in the world. Do you re- 
member that hateful Miss Smeef, of 'New York, 
who was at school with us ; how she lorded it over 
all the poor pensionnaires / how she browbeat our 
lady principal, and knew more about Paris at six- 
teen than we ever shall, I trust, in all our lives ? 

The way this person came into papa’s favor 
was as follows. : About a year ago there was some 
huge piece of machinery to be moved from our 
* Foreman, or overseer. 


SKIRMISH. 


7 


usim to a paper-mill some fifteen leagues distant, 
over a route wliich went directly across the rail- 
road. This monstrous apparatus, weighing I do 
not know how much, was placed on one of the 
strongest wagons, pulled by twelve horses, when 
the wagon broke, and down fell the whole mass of 
iron, right across the railroad-track. Of course 
there was no danger to the coming train, for the 
railroad people could have telegraphed the mishap, 
only papa would have been forced to pay heavy 
damages for even an accidental obstruction of the 
road. Papa happened to see the break-down from 
one of the windows of his office, and he raged and 
stormed as only my dear papa can rage and storm. 
A host of men were called, who all pulled, and 
tugged, and strained, and the thing would not 
budge. You know, my dear Cffimence, how we 
French are given to expletives. Ya! If bad 
language could have moved that heavy mass of 
iron, it would have flown. I happened to be rid- 
ing that way with my groom, and was attracted 
by the confusion. There was poor papa, in almost 
a fit of apoplexy, watch in hand, saying that the 
machine must be off the track in fifteen minutes, 
or it would be a loss of ten thousand francs to 
him, because the express-train to Paris would be 
due in twenty minutes. Papa ordered out more 
men, and the heaviest tackle. You see, Clemence, 
I know all about such things. 

“ It can be done more quickly, and without so 


8 


A STRUGGLE. 


much trouble,” said a little man, in rather gram- 
matical French, but with a decided English accent. 
“ If you will only keep quiet, and not all talk at 
once, I feel pretty certain that we can clear the 
rails of the obstruction in fifteen minutes. Give 
me, sir ” — this was addressed to papa — ‘‘ twenty- 
five men — silent ones, above all — and let every 
one of them have hammers and chisels, and as 
many levers ; ” and the little man took a cigar 
out, and lit it quite composedly. 

“ How ? how ? ” shrieked papa. 

By this time I was so excited myself that I 
had urged my horse quite into the middle of the 
crowd of workmen. 

“ Do you not see that some of the heavy stays 
and bolts supporting the machine are all bent up, 
and twisted around the iron rails of the track, and 
that by the force of the fall they are completely 
imbedded ? You are trying to move not only the 
machine, but the railroad together, which is im- 
possible. Here, loosen that rail — pull it up — and 
the cross-piece too, if necessary ; ” and, saying 
this, the man, having thrown away his cigar, set 
alone at work one-handed, for he has but a single 
arm. 

‘‘What ! Is it possible?” cried papa. “You 
want to move the rails? This is an audacious 
idea, and the consequences would be dreadful ! I 
must have permission from the head engineer of 
the road before I can touch a single rail.” 


SKIRMISH. 


9 


But, before papa could say anything more, the 
workmen seemed to have caught the little man’s 
ideas, for they had pulled up two rails, and the 
hammers and chisels rained down blows on the 
jagged and twisted bits of irons. Pretty soon all 
hinderances were cut loose, and, with a hearty 
push, by means of rollers, the whole mass of iron 
was moved off the track. Then, quick as light- 
ning, our little man, for he is scarcely three inches 
taller than I am, was down on his knees, tugging 
at the rails, and showing the workmen how to lay 
them in place again. 

By this time a host of railroad employes were 
on the spot, for it happened three miles above the 
depot ; and while they gaped in amazement over 
the sacrilege of those divine rights which railroads 
enjoy in France, down came thundering along the 
grande-vitesse train, and passed on just as smooth- 
ly as if nothing had happened. Of course, after 
the thing was all done and past, papa had to ask 
permission for form’s sake to remove the rails and 
replace them again, all of which concessions were 
kindly granted him. I feel sure our little Ameri- 
can — for he was an American — came in for a good 
deal of praise. Anyhow, papa, who is quick to 
appreciate merit, and likes to have people in his 
employ who can bring in prominence those pe- 
culiar qualities which sudden emergencies call for, 
inquired what might be the profession of this per- 
son. Our little man proved to be an engineer. 


10 


A STRUGGLE. 


and papa engaged him as a superintendent of 
some of our minor departments. Now, papa has 
a very excited way of talking about the products 
of his forge. You might tell him that his pict- 
ures were poor copies, or his horses or his dogs 
had, or the lawn of St.-Eloi a shabby grass-plot, 
and he would only shrug his shoulders ; but find 
fault with a single scrap of his iron, and he be- 
comes furious — ^because he is very conscientious 
about such things. Now, when the new contre- 
maitre was in position for a month only, papa got 
into a desperate rage with him. The contre- 
maitre had declared that a certain quality of iron 
our forge turned out was poor, and not as good 
as it should be for the price. But papa listened 
to the new man, and, according to his suggestions, 
some original appliances were made, and ever since 
then papa has done nothing else but boast about 
his iron. It seems that, by the adoption of cer- 
tain American devices, we not only save fuel, but 
make tougher iron — an improvement in quality 
with a diminution of cost. You may not know, 
my dear Clemence, how this works both ways to 
our profit, or how the fraction of a centime in our 
favor makes the difference of a fortune to us when 
you consider the millions of pounds of iron the 
forges of St.-Eloi turn out. I would not be the 
fitting daughter of the largest iron-manufacturer 
in this part of France if I did not know all the 
secrets of the business, for papa treats me almost 


SKIRMISH. 


11 


like a partner, and even consults me in regard to 
his plans. 

There, that is enough about the contre-mattre. 
Oh, I forgot — he is an invalid ! It is not a very- 
serious matter. There is nothing heroic about 
him. He did not wade through molten iron to 
save anything or anybody. Ten days ago some 
new process was going on of his planning, which 
came suddenly' to a standstill, because a blowing- 
machine would not keep up its blast in the fur- 
nace. I don’t know what it was exactly, but some- 
thing had been clogged up or had stuck fast, and 
the hands were swearing and suggesting and doing 
nothing, when the contre-mattre did something 
which set all the machinery going again with such 
a sudden jar and clatter, that an old piece of lum- 
ber was thrown down, which struck the superin- 
tendent on the head and stunned him for the mo- 
ment. Such a precious hard head he must have, 
not to have been killed, and to have come off with 
only a scalp-wound ! Papa has had the contre- 
mattre at the chateau for a week, and he goes 
mooning around the grounds, with his head bound 
up, looking like a small edition of Pore’s Don 
Quixote ! Oh, how did Bobe come into my pos- 
session ? Bobe belonged to the contre-mattre^ and, 
when the dog left his master one day and came to 
me, I admired the little brute. Papa asked M. 
Percival to send to England for just such a dog 
for me. M. Percival (such an odd Christian-name 


12 


A STRUGGLE. 


as he has, Hoo ; it is spelled H-u-g-h — what an 
impossible language is English !) begged papa to 
keep the dog. Bobe only owes me half -allegiance : 
for he is constantly playing me false, and running 
off to his old master. Sometimes I have a mind 
to send him back. — There, I must cease now, for 
Madame de Valbois has come in. It is fortunate 
she has, otherwise I should be as interminable as 
Mees Clarissa Harlowe, who must have spent all 
her miserable life writing letters. 

There, Madame de Valbois has gone. She 
asked me to whom I had been writing, and I re- 
plied, “ To Clemence de Montfriand.” She said, 
quite condescendingly : “ What, Clemence du 
Parc, who was married some six months ago ? A 
good acquaintance, my dear Pauline. If your 
friend Clemence has the beauty, the grace, the 
amiability, of her mother, you could have no bet- 
ter friend.” You see, then, Clemence ch'erie, Ma- 
dame de Valbois patronizes you, and congratulates 
me on having such distinguished acquaintances ! 
Madame de Valbois told me that the general has 
just arrived, and she left me to meet him. I 
thought I heard a bustle in the court-yard. — Bless 
me ! I have been looking out of the window ! 
There is a sentinel at the entrance-door, and I see 
some dozen infantry-soldiers. As I supposed, St.- 
Eloi will be headquarters. I must go down and 
welcome my dear godfather — my second father, in 


SKIRMISH. 


13 


fact. Who could think, Clemence, that such a 
sweet old gentleman, who looks for all the world 
— save his mustache — like our ancient Professor 
of Botany, was a redoubtable soldier, and that, in 
the Crimea, he was among the first to storm the 
Malakoff ? Huzza for the glories of France ! The 
general will kiss me, and will be sure to call me 
his “ pretty little Pauline,” as if I were a baby yet. 
Then he v/ill give me an elegant honbonnihre full 
of the choicest sugar-plums. Now I might be half 
inclined to laugh at my dear old general’s gift to 
a young woman of almost twenty-one, if I was not 
sure to find in the box a dainty ring or a bracelet. 
The general forgets that I am growing older, while 
he — ^why, really he remains ever the. same. I will 
give you a breathing-spell, Clemence, while I dress. 
Babette has come in to aid me in my toilet. I shall 
resume this interminable letter later. 

Just as I told you, Clemence, the most charm- 
ing of Boissiers boxes was mine, but in it was a 
ring, an antique — Greek or Phoenician, I don’t re- 
member which. The general, who is a famous 
antiquarian, picked it up himself in some ruin, in 
Africa, I believe — I think near old Carthage — and 
he has had the stone mounted by Castellani. Dear 
old gentleman ! when I thanked him for it — for, 
much to Madame de Valbois’s horror, I had turned 
out all the sugar-plums to look for it — the general 
said to me : “ My dear child, some of these fine 


14 


A STRUGGLE. 


days, before very long, I hope to present you, 
above-board, and not in a tawdry box of comfits, 
such 2,parure as will tend to render my godchild 
more beautiful when she makes another man hap- 
py as his wife.” Of course, this remark of my 
godfather’s confused me, and the more so since I 
became certain that a look of intelligence had 
passed between Madame de Valbois and General 
de Frail. Had these two good people been talk- 
ing about an intended parti for me? I hinted 
before this to you, Clemence, some suspicions of 
such a thing. In fact, it is getting to be such a se- 
rious matter that I ought not to treat it any longer 
en espiegle, M. de Valbois and I, save for the last 
four years, when he was absent in America and 
in the East, have known each other ever since we 
were children. It is only within the last few 
years that I have ceased calling him Raoul. I 
know papa owes a debt of gratitude to M. Raoul’s 
father, who in some way laid the foundation of 
our fortune. The De Valbois people are all very 
wealthy. As to M. Raoul, there is really very 
little to find fault with. He is highly educated, 
stands well in the Foreign Office, and will rise in 
position. At twenty-six he has some three deco- 
rations, which, with exceeding good taste, he nev- 
er alludes to. He is a singularly handsome man, 
and, if but slightly is but very little fade. But 
— ^but why has he been away for the last four 
years ? What I feel is so difficult for me to ex- 


SKIRMISH. 


15 


press about him is this : I am certain that Raoul 
de Yalbois thinks the matter of our espousals (I 
write you this as if I were the heroine-princess of 
a melodrama) is a foregone conclusion. I always 
imagine that there is a little lordly way about him 
which galls and irritates me. It is, I feel certain, 
Madame de Yalbois who is most at fault. I try 
not to resent madame’s manners by supposing that 
her son has any such ideas, but for the life of me 
I cannot help it. It is true the De Yalbois family 
can hold their heads high in point of birth, but 
what is that to me? Yet Madame de Yalbois is 
constantly bringing into prominence the attentions 
of Madame la Comtesse This and Madame la Ba- 
ronne That, who all had superb daughters, with 
handsome dowers, which good mammas would 
only have been too glad to confide their darlings 
to the representative of the De Yalbois. I should 
not mind that so much, for it might be true, only 
she tells me, pretty much in these words, what she 
has replied to these eligible offers : “ Mesdames, 
your daughters are surpassingly lovely, and then- 
worldly conditions are no doubt assured, and your 
proposals generally and collectively do us honor, 
only we are engaged ; the matter is all cut and 
dried. We have only to put out our hand some- 
where — hardly to ask, in fact — only to intimate 
it, and we can be supremely happy.” All these 
things passed through my mind then, as they do 
now, when the general spoke to me. Presently 


16 


A STRUGGLE. 


Madame de Valbois left us. I never saw my dear 
godfather in such high spirits. I have described 
him to you as looking like a quiet professor of 
sciences, only at times his eyes flash like light- 
ning, and you can see that the man is made of iron 
and steel. W e had been talking some half-hour on 
indifferent topics, when the general referred inci- 
dentally to my geographical studies about France, 
for, you know, if I am slightly ignorant about the 
outside world, I am thoroughly at home in my own 
country. As to our department and the imme- 
diate neighborhood for ten leagues around, I do 
not think there is a road or a by-path I have not 
galloped over. The general put to me quite a 
series of singular questions as to the width of cer- 
tain roads and the character of the bridges, and 
we had a dispute in regard to the number of arches 
which spanned a stream some four leagues from 
here. The general requested me to find for him 
a book on engineering devoted to the department- 
al improvements, in order to assure himself that 
I was right. I soon gave him the book, and he 
found that I was correct. There were some maps 
in the back of the volume, and he spread out one 
of the department on the table. As he did so a 
bit of tracing-paper dropped out and fell on the 
floor. The general picked it up, examined it, and 
then put the paper in his pocket. Then he went 
on questioning me, though his queries were put to 
me en badinage, as, ‘‘My little pupil, if it is two 


SKIRMISH. 


17 


leagues from the cross-road where the beet-factory 
is to the village, and three more to the river, with 
a road only ten metres wide, when you cantered 
along it with a hunting-party, as you say you have 
done, pray can you tell me how many ladies and 
gentlemen rode abreast ? Do not forget that the 
road narrows for the last half-league between the 
hills. Now count it out on your pretty fingers.” 
Of course, my explanations were none of the 
clearest, so I referred him laughingly to his staff. 
Suddenly he asked me, “How far are we from 
Stultzheim on the Rhine ? ” 

“It is said to be almost seventeen leagues. 
That is the distance marked in kilometres on the 
railroad.” 

“Yes,” he replied ; “but I mean by the wagon- 
ers’ route. Now, suppose Pauline had her trunk 
full of elegant dresses at Stultzheim, and wanted 
the trunk carted to St.-Eloi, how long would it 
take the package to reach you ? ” 

“How should I know precisely?” I replied. 
“ But we have, I think, some one here who could 
give you the exact information you require. Not 
papa, because these minor details escape him. I 
think this man can give you the distance, because 
some months ago several loads of machinery were 
sent to a cloth -factory within a half-mile of Stultz- 
heim. M. Percival, our contre-mattre, must be 
able to tell you all about it. M. Percival directed 
the transportation.” 

2 


18 


A STRUGGLE. 


I would like to see him,” said the general ; 
and he touched a hell, when one of his orderlies 
came. Looking out of the window, I saw M. 
Percival seated on a bench in the court-yard, read- 
ing a book. I indicated M. Percival to the soldier, 
and in a few moments the contre-mattre was in 
the library, looking rather surprised. 

“ How long did it take you, sir,” inquired the 
general, in a quick, military tone, “to move some 
machinery from the factory to Stultzheim ? ” 

“ Sixteen hours precisely, sir,” replied M. Per- 
cival, in an off-hand kind of way. 

“ What ! and it is but fifteen leagues ? ” said 
the general. 

“ The machinery was heavy, and the road was 
bad. If I had to do it again, I might accomplish 
it in, perhaps, an hour and a half less.” 

“How?” 

“ By repairing the road.” 

“ What ! are the roads bad ? ” 

“Ho worse than departmental roads are gen- 
erally in this part of France, sir.” 

“ Hot so good as German roads ? ” 

“Ho, sir.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” 

“Because I have traveled over those roads 
which are on the other side of the Hhine, at least 
across the river from Stultzheim.” 

“Here is this particular road,” said the gen- 
eral ; and he took up the book and spread out the 


SKIRMISH. 


19 


map before him. “ Here is St.-Eloi, and here is 
the — ” But my godfather, not being familiar 
with the locality, halted here. 

“Yes,” said M. Percival, “here are two streams 
which have to be crossed. The first bridge is ex- 
cellent and sound, the second one I feel sure is 
defective. Here are two boggy places, which will 
get worse in two weeks’ time from now, when the 
streams rise. It rained heavily two days ago, and 
these summer storms on the Vosges swell the riv- 
ers rapidly. You would have — ” Here M. Per- 
cival looked inquisitively at the general for an in- 
stant, and then came to a full pause. 

“ Is this plan yours ? ” said the general, taking 
out of his pocket the bit of flimsy tracing-paper 
and placing it over the engraved map. 

“ I think it must be,” replied M. Percival. 

“ I see that it differs slightly from the original,” 
said the general. 

“ Only because, sir, as was suggested to M. De- 
lange, some alterations on the road were to be 
made, and, having been in the library a day or so 
ago, I made the proposed changes.” 

“You are the very man I want, then. Pray 
continue, sir.” 

“ How — continue ? ” 

“ You paused when you stated that I should 
have some difficulty about something. Pray ex- 
plain yourself.” 

“ You would have no end of trouble with ar- 


20 


A STRUGGLE. 


tillery there. Your guns, for a rapid movement, 
would be sure to be stuck.” 

“Who spoke about artillery or guns? Are 
you an Englishman ? ” 

“ No, sir ; I am not.” 

“What made you think about moving can- 
non?” 

“ It simply suggested itself to my mind, as I 
suppose it must have to yours.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! You have seen service ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ If not a liberty (for you wear an empty sleeve 
which I respect), did you lose your arm in action ? 
None but a very apt engineer with a military 
training could have made that very neat tracing.” 

Here, dear Clemence, I would have given a 
good deal to stay, but the general dismissed me 
and retained M. Percival. I saw the general at 
dinner, and he sat beside me. Papa was at his 
best, and was the life of the table, but my god- 
father seemed absorbed. M. de Valbois was po- 
lite and courteous as usual, madame dignified and 
slightly incisive. M. Percival has his meals al- 
ways served him in his room, and has not yet 
honored us with his company. When dinner was 
over WQ had coffee, as usual, in the small drawing- 
room overlooking the lawn. A dozen people had 
come ill;, ofiicials from the mairie^ some of our 
neighbors, there was a sprinkling of ofiicers. 
I went to the P>ano to play something, prepava- 


SKIRMISH. 


21 


tory to whist, for the general and papa have an 
interminable game which has lasted for twenty- 
years. The servants had arranged the card-tables, 
when an officer came in and presented a dispatch 
to the general. My godfather was at the table, 
and was in the act of cutting for a partner — I 
could see that, for M. de Valbois was turning over 
for me the leaves of a nocturne^ as he is an excel- 
lent musician — when the general rose, excused 
himself, came to me, and begged M. de Valbois 
to take his place at the table. But Madame de 
Valbois had already occupied the position. I fan- 
cied I knew the reason why. It was because she 
wanted Raoul to be -with me. The general read 
the dispatch — a brief one, apparently — by the can- 
dles at my piano. Of course, my nocturne came 
to a full stop. M. de Valbois left me in a min- 
ute, and went out of the drawing-room as if an- 
noyed. I think I made a happy escape, for, some- 
how or other, I fancied the grande affaire was 
coming. I went on playing again, when my god- 
father gently put one of his hands on mine and 
said : 

^‘My little Pauline, I have a service to ask 
you. What about this M. Percival ? Who 
is he?” 

“ I assure you I do not know, save that he is 
papa’s head-man, and that he places all confidence 
in him,” I replied. 

An American ? ” 


22 


A STKUGGLE. 


Yes ; though I have never exchanged a dozen 
words with him.” I was surprised at the interest 
the general had taken in our contre-maitre, 

“ Pauline, I want more information from the 
man. He has what we call a topographical head, 
and a knowledge of this country and of that across 
the river would he of great use to me, especially 
at this moment. Is he still-mouthed ? Does he 
know how to hold his tongue ? ” 

“ Hold his tongue ? Certainly he does, since 
he has never opened his mouth to me. But papa 
says he is a tomb of secrets. I assure you, though, 
I never had any confidences to impart to him,” I 
added, with a laugh. 

Where is he now ? ” 

‘‘ How should I know, general ? Usually he 
smokes a cigar after his dinner, in the hilliard- 
room, especially when nobody is there, as is prob- 
ably the case just now. M. Percival is rather a 
misanthropic kind of person, perhaps unaccus- 
tomed to general society.” 

“ Pauline, if I sent for him it might be noticed. 
You and I will saunter Mit, and you will take me 
to the billiard-room.” So, unobserved, the general 
and I left the drawing-room, walked across the 
court-yard, a mere step to the billiard-room, and, 
sure enough, there was M. Percival, but M. de 
Valbois was there too. 

“ I will engage M. de Valbois in conversation,” 
said the general, indicating M, Raoul, who was 


SKIRMISH. 


23 


listlessly knocking tke billiard-balls about, “ while 
you will please say to your contre-maitre that I 
should feel obliged to him if he would come to the 
library at once. You will also be good enough to 
intimate to him that he had better not mention to 
any one my having sent for him.” 

‘‘But, dear godfather — ” I should have de- 
clined, but the general’s manner was very impera- 
tive, so I reluctantly obeyed. I felt very awkward 
and embarrassed, which, I suppose, may excuse 
the first words I said to M. Percival, which were — 
“Monsieur Percival does not play billiards?” 
The man looked amazed. 

“ Oh, pardon me ! ” I added ; “ that was so 
very stupid on my part ; how can you play bil- 
liards, having but one — Here I came to a full 
stop. But my curiosity got the better of me, and 
I asked him: “Would you tell me, sir, what 
General de Frail, one of the ablest of our French 
officers, has found so interesting in my father’s 
contre-maitre as to be closeted with him for fully 
two hours to-day ? ” 

“I can scarcely imagine, Mademoiselle De- 
lange ; but since you do me the honor of asking, 
I suppose the questions put to me by the general 
were precisely of such a character as an able man 
in the profession of arms would ask of any one 
who knew something about the roads in the 
neighborhood relative to the movement, I fancy, 
of a column of soldiers ” — and M. Percival here 


24 


A STRUGGLE. 


rose, and bowed to me, as if declining any further 
conversation. 

‘‘ Excuse my detaining you, sir ; but this move- 
ment of soldiers will be on the railroad. Perhaps 
we will have a new road to build ; then papa will 
have no end of contracts for rails and bridges.” 

“ Scarcely,” was M. Percival’s reply. 

‘‘ How scarcely ? ” 

‘‘It is no mission of peaceful enterprise which 
directs General de Frail’s attention.” 

“ What do you mean, then ? Pray be less enig- 
matical.” 

“ I am not French, mademoiselle, and cannot 
feel exactly as you do. Perhaps you may think 
glory is everything.” 

This speech piqued me, and I did not see that 
he had any business to find fault with my love of 
glory ; so I said quite petulantly, “ Have you had 
glory enough in your own country ? ” 

“ Plenty of it, and I shall remember it all my 
life, because I cannot play billiards.” That speech 
of his humbled me for the moment, but then I 
thought it was, if not uncivil, at least unkind of 
him to recall what was nothing more than an inad- 
vertency on my part. I commenced now to be 
really displeased. 

“ You are very sensitive, sir,” I said. “French- 
men do glory in such things ; and what is an arm ? 
It seems to me, though, that even with only one 
you have made yourself very useful to papa. 


SKIRMISH. 


25 


But what do you mean by this pointed allusion to 
glory and France, which, thank Goodness, are in- 
separable ? ” 

M. Percival seemed to hesitate, for a moment, 
when he blurted out : 

“ War, mademoiselle, I am afraid, must be im- 
minent, and, as the iron-works and this chateau 
are very near the border, we shall be likely to 
suffer first.” 

Here was a revelation. I did not like his 
placing the usine first in prominence, and the cha- 
teau afterward. But what he said shocked me. I 
held my peace for a moment, and looked at the 
general, and saw he was growing impatient. 

“You, then, sir, who know about war; — are 
you acquainted with its horrors ? ” I inquired. 

“ I have been, mademoiselle.” 

“ The general asked me just now whether M. 
Percival had a certain amount of reticence, and I 
took upon myself the liberty to state that he pos- 
sessed that talent, and here I have had told me 
the drift of certain suspicions in regard to the 
matter General de Frail talked to him about.” 

“ Excuse me. Mademoiselle Pauline Delange 
asked me questions in such a personal way that I 
forgot myself. Had the general intimated secre- 
cy, I would never have told you a word.” 

He rose again, and took his hat this time. 

“ It is w'ell ! ” I said, rather triumphantly, 
imitating papa’s manner, “ Now the general 


26 


A STRUGGLE. 


wants you, probably in reference to the same 
subject. You can understand that you are to 
be silent about it. The general will be in the 
library. You will be good enough to go there at 
once.” 

That was like papa all over, and I felt delight- 
ed to be authoritative. M. Percival looked at me 
amazed. You have no idea, Clemence, how 
amazed a man with a bandage around the top of 
his head can look. But presently a smile came 
over his face, and he laughed — not exactly at me, 
but still he laughed. It was infectious, his laugh- 
ter, and I laughed myself, as my authoritative 
manner must have been a dead failure. I added, 
‘‘ Since you have been rather overbearing in your 
manner, I hope the general will keep you closeted 
all night with him for a punishment.” 

‘‘ Who — I overbearing, mademoiselle ? Your 
wish is a very unkind one, for my head aches now 
almost to splitting.” 

“Well, you will find some camphor- water on 
the second shelf of the library to the right of the 
door. I put it there for papa when he suffers 
from neuralgia. I am sorry for you. I had, in- 
deed, forgotten that you had received quite a se- 
vere blow on the head. It is better, I trust.” 

“ Oh, quite well,” he continued. “ But, made- 
moiselle, not being a Frenchman, and only 2 , con- 
tre-7nattre in your father’s factory, I am not em- 
ployed in a military capacity.” 


SKIRMISH. 27 

“Are you for the Germans?” I asked, quite 
excitedly. 

“My sympathies are my own, and I am not 
bound to give them publicity — only, mademoi- 
selle, I protest against your right, or anybody’s, 
even your father’s, as to ordering me to do any- 
thing which does not belong to my particular du- 
ties ; then, besides, the fate of France” — and here 
he smiled rather maliciously — “ might depend up- 
on my being bright or stupid to-night, or on the 
• contents of a camphor-bottle.” 

Evidently M. Percival was now laughing at me. 

“ Then you would in cold blood,” I hotly said, 
“ stand upon some high-flown principle of honor 
— ^which for the life of me I cannot understand — 
and see the chateau sacked and your dear uduQ 
burned and papa ruined, because you did not exact- 
ly understand all the phases of the question ? ” 

Then I thought I was making too serious a 
matter about it, and giving the contre-mattre too 
great importance. I felt, though, for the first 
time, some vague, dread feeling of alarm at what 
might happen. Papa had declared that the idea 
of war with the Prussians was impossible. 

“ I have balanced the matter in my mind,” said 
M. Percival, “ and the scale just barely descends 
in favor of the usine. I owe a great deal to M. 
Delange. I should grieve if anything impaired 
his fortune.” 

“ The usine again ! and the chateau and its in- 


28 


A STRUGGLE. 


mates ! ” I exclaimed, provoked at the cold-blood- 
edness of the man. 

“ What are these handsome gi’ounds, this old 
chateau, when compared to whole square leagues 
of land trampled under foot, and women and chil- 
dren beggared, and turned out to starve and 
die?” 

‘‘You are tragic, sir — ^rather an alarmist ! ” hut 
he had scared me. 

“ Perhaps I am, but I must beg your pardon 
if I have caused you any uneasiness in regard to 
the future. Tell the general I shall be in the li- 
brary at once.” 

I have kept this letter by me, Clemence. I 
commenced it yesterday, and can only finish it for 
the late mail. Last night I could see the light 
burning in the general’s quarters until almost 
dawn. General de Frail and M. Percival must 
have been at it all night. Half a dozen times I 
heard the clatter of horses’ feet in the court-yard. 
Once I saw a courier ride in at break-neck speed, 
and leave as rapidly as he came. At breakfast 
this morning papa looked grave, M. de Yalbois 
anxious, and Madame de Yalbois was in tears. 
There is a whole batch of letters coming in — re- 
grets on the part of our intended guests, and the 
reason is the terrible nature of the events. At 
last ! I have laid violent hands on a journal papa 
tried to hide from me. It is war. My God ! and 


SKIRMISH. 


29 


was the contre-mattre right ? The general came 
down late to breakfast. He was gay and pleas- 
ant, and cracked his jokes at my expense. Pau- 
line, from her knowledge of the country, was to 
have a staff-appointment ; and, as there had been 
a Jeanne d’Arc, there might be a Pauline de St.- 
Eloi. He asked me if I had ever seen twenty-five 
thousand men on their march, and he assured me 
that, if I would mount my horse to-day and go 
forth with him to the very bridge we had a dis- 
pute about, at precisely one o’clock, military time, 
I could see a whole corps d^armee on an advance. 
He would like nie to come, he said, first to give 
him my opinion as to the appearance of the troops, 
and then it might be pleasant for me to bid him 
good-by, for he was to command the division. My 
dear old general’s manner reassured us all, and his 
joking made papa smile. It seems we are to run 
the works to their utmost capacity day and night. 
We received this morning a contract for shot and 
shell, and all the gun-barrels we can forge. Papa 
says it will amount to some millions of francs. M. 
de Valbois is for the first time apparently excited, 
but has very kindly attempted to allay my anxie- 
ties. He has two uncles in the service, and Ma- 
dame de Valbois is in tears over them. In a mo- 
ment of nervous excitement she said to me, “ My 
dear Pauline, how glad you should be that Raoul 
has not assumed the career of arms ! ” The gen- 
eral told us, since we had the initiative, that was 


30 


A STRUGGLE. 


half the battle. It seems, then, everything has 
been arranged, ready sprung for an emergency. My 
maid Babette is wild with excitement, and wants 
to fight herself, and the next moment is in tears 
about a certain Jean Baptiste, a good lad I know, 
who is in the artillery, and to whom she is en- 
gaged. M. Percival I have not seen. Papa says 
the contre-mattre is at work again, and that dur- 
ing some days (for papa goes to Paris by the same 
train which takes this letter) M. Percival will have 
entire direction. Evidently the danger of an in- 
road from our enemies the Prussians is remote, 
quite impossible, or papa would never have left 
me. But, Clemence, what if I should see war with 
all its horrors ? It was eleven o’clock to-day when 
the general, with M. de Valbois, some twenty offi- 
cers, and as many gentlemen from the neighbor- 
hood, left the chateau of St.-Eloi. We were quite 
a cavalcade, for the general’s escort — a company 
of Guides — joined us a mile from St.-Eloi. We 
had some two leagues to go, and we all cantered 
along at a pleasant speed. It was a lovely day, 
such as one sees only in this dear country. Every 
field was blooming, and all seemed hushed in quiet 
repose. Great fields of colza stretched away, and 
broad spaces were covered with tobacco-plants. 
In the meadows the lazy cattle gazed at us as we 
clattered down the road. There was a gentle 
breeze, which kept off the dust, just swaying the 
trees, and the tall poplars rustled so pleasantly. 


SKIRMISH. 


31 


Occasionally, as we passed, groups of peasants 
working in the fields would stop from their labors, 
and the women would courtesy to us, while the 
men would doff their hats, and gaze at our gallant 
appearance, and cry out in their patois, “ Vive la 
France ! ” The sweet odors of the freshly-cut hay 
pervaded the air with fragrance. Away off in 
the distance — for the day was so clear — we could 
see the Vosges Mountains, standing out blue and 
gray on the horizon. The general and I headed 
the cavalcade. I had on my new riding-habit, the 
one you sent me, and the dear old general had 
with his own hands put a heron’s plume in my hat. 
My little bay horse was looking his best, and 
kept readily alongside of the general’s impatient 
charger. We all took a breathing-spell at a pretty 
brook and let our horses drink, when we pushed 
on again at a hand-gallop, so as to be in good time 
for the arrival of the troops. Just as we arrived 
at the designated place the general pointed to a 
rising bit of ground as best adapted to my wit- 
nessing the approach of the division. 

“ Pauline, you are to be my picket,” said the 
general, looking at his watch. We are in good 
time. That little American told me of an eleva- 
tion, just here, big enough to hold a single battery, 
which completely covered the approaches to the 
road ; and, sure enough, there it is, and there is 
the clump of trees which would mask it. Your 
contre-maitre has decidedly a military coup-d^mil. 


32 


A STRUGGLE. 


Pauline, push on your little horse, and see which 
of us two can scramble up first.” 

I spoke to my horse, who with a bound took 
the lead, and I was first. I think the general 
played me false, for he held in his charger, then 
dismounted, and was soon surrounded by a group 
of officers. He drew out a note-book, and com- 
menced writing, and then he addressed an officer, 
who wrote under his dictation. It was grand to 
look down from where I was at the little military 
assemblage below me. The escort had dismount- 
ed, and had formed themselves into picturesque 
groups. Presently the general, M. de Valbois, 
and a major, the head of the staff, came to me, 
and they all helped me to alight. It was precise- 
ly one o’clock by the major’s watch. But no signs 
of the troops were visible. The general gave an 
< . der, and some half-dozen cavalrymen were in the 
saddle in a second, and in an instant more were 
out of sight. M. de Valbois and the officer talked 
to me, while I pointed out to the major the Vosges 
hills, and called them each by name. It was half- 
past one now, and, though the major used a formi- 
dable kind of opera-glass, no cloud of dust was 
visible in the distance. The general became im- 
patient. I had been wise enough to think of 
luncheon, and the contents of the baskets M. de 
Valbois’s groom and mine had brought were soon 
disposed of, but the general would not touch a 
morsel. “ He was smoking,” he said, “ and had 


SKIRMISH. 


33 


no appetite.” The fact is, the general was in a 
terrible rage, all the worse because it was smoth- 
ered. It was not one of those temporary gusts 
which papa indulges in, but something of the 
most concentrated character. The staff, appar- 
ently knowing his mood, kept aloof from him. 
Presently he called a captain and a lieutenant to 
him, and in a half-dozen brief words, which 
snapped like the crack of a whip, told them to 
“ ride on all day, if necessary, until they met the 
column.” Off they started at full speed, at a 
break-neck pace, both gentlemen jumping their 
horses over a high hedge. It was almost half-past 
two before these officers came back, all covered 
with dust, and their horses flecked with foam. 
Faintly, now, ever so faintly, in the distance I 
heard the sounds of the clarion, and then the roll 
of the drum. The general pricked up his ears. 
Nearer came the trumpet-calls, and now the ad- 
! vance, a squad of cavalry, was visible. Then I 
i saw the first files of the infantry, and I could 
! make out in the plain below a long, straggling 
I line of artillery and the wagons. It was a superb 
; and glorious pageant, and filled me with the idea 
of power and strength. Our own little body of 
I men were ordered in the saddle and formed below, 
just beyond the bridge. Just then an infantry 
regiment caught sight of our dear old general, 
who was on horseback alongside of me on top of 
the little knoll, and they cried and shouted, and 
3 


34 


A STRUGGLE. 


tlieir vivas were caught up by the next soldiers, 
and were carried all along the line, and rolled 
away far into the distance. The officers saluted, 
and the military bands burst out. I turned to 
General de Frail, trusting to see some expressions 
of pleasure on his face, but his face showed no 
emotion. He was stern and grave. In my en- 
thusiasm I could have shouted, too, and as it was 
had drawn out my handkerchief, and was weaving it. 

“My dear Pauline,” said the general, “it is 
true the temie of the men is superb, but, though it 
all looks so very fine, the division is exactly two 
hours and five minutes too late — ^behind time — 
and I will have to punish some one severely. Now, 
my child, good-by, and God bless you ! When 
the war is over, we will certainly see one another. 
— M. de Valbois, I wish you a good-day. — ^Pauline, 
kiss your father for me. Pauline, it is a common 
saying that one can’t have an omelet without 
breaking eggs ; and rest assured we are going to 
give and receive no end of hard knocks. — Ah ! 
here come some brave old friends of mine ; ” and 
the general pointed to a regiment, and he showed 
me its flag. “ I commanded some of those men in 
the Crimea, and we have known what it was to 
suffer and to be happy together. It is almost my 
family, for that is my old regiment. I carried 
that flag when I was a stripling — those same 
shreds of silk.” Here my godfather unbent for 
the first time, removing his Min as the men shout- 


SKIRMISH. 


35 


ed out his name. “Now, Pauline, my darling, 
good-by, and may God bless you ! We shall see 
each other again ; ” and he kissed me tenderly, 
and I felt a tear on his brave old face. The gen- 
eral’s staff then bade me adieu, and took their 
places in the column, their chief at their head. 
Dear general ! He stood up in his stirrups, look- 
ing at me over the tops of the guns, waved his 
hand to me, and then he disappeared in a bend of 
the road. It would have been fully two hours 
before the rear-guard could have passed us. Now 
M. de Yalbois and some three other gentlemen 
made up the party. We did not wait to see the 
last of the soldiers. As we turned bridle to go 
homeward I felt very much like crying. We 
came home slowly. Still the SAveet scent of the 
clover was in the air, but it gave me a headache. 
I do not think I said anything to M. Raoul, who 
rode alongside of me, save to answer him in mono- 
syllables. In fact, we all, I fancy, were more or 
less oppressed. I had been over-excited, I sup- 
pose, and felt exhausted. The atmosphere might 
have had something to do with it, for a storm was 
gathering in the Vosges away off in the distance. 
Presently we heard the faint reverberation of the 
thunder, and I trembled so — who am not a ner- 
vous woman — that I checked my horse. It was 
God’s artillery and not man’s. M. de Yalbois 
urged speed, in order to escape the rain, which 
we could see driving up from the hills, and we 


36 


A STRUGGLE. 


puslied our horses. Just as we got to the chateau 
the rain came down in torrents. I rushed into the 
house to give papa the general’s parting words, 
hut he was gone. I had forgotten his intended 
departure. I have passed a dreary evening with 
Madame de Valhois, whose presence seems to de- 
press me. It appears that Madame de Yalhois’s 
mother saw the horrors of 1815, and the lady 
must needs tell them all to me. The whole of 
France is only interesting to Madame de Valhois 
as having to do with her or her son’s interests, or 
those of the De Valhois. M. Raoul had gone to 
St.-Eloi to hear the news. I have pleaded my 
unfinished letter to you as an excuse to he alone. 
And now, dear Clemence, I have just time to fin- 
ish this, and send it hy Andre. Somehow, if I 
commenced this gayly, I feel in wetched spirits 
to-night. My kindest regards to M. de Montfriand. 

For ever and ever, 

Pauline. 

{Madame de Montfriand to Pauline Peking e,) 

Paris, July — , ISVO. 

My Pauline : I can fancy your alarm. That 
you are nervous and excited, I can readily under- 
stand. Instantly on receipt of your letter I saw 
my father, and it is all arranged. M. de Mont- 
friand will call on M. Delange to-day, in order 
to urge your immediate departure from St.-Eloi. 
You must come to Paris and live with us. If war 


SKIRMISH. 


37 


has its misfortunes, it shall sei*ve at least to re- 
unite us. There, poor little dear, the whole mat- 
ter is concluded. Of course, it is a serious busi- 
ness — for the Prussians. My eldest brother, the 
colonel of Spahis, arrived here yesterday from 
Algiers, and leaves for the Rhine to-morrow. He 
has an appointment in General de Frail’s division, 
and your acquaintance with this gallant officer 
may he of use to the colonel. I spoke to my 
brother about St.-Eloi, and he laughed away my 
tears. That part of Alsace, he assures me, is just 
where our French torrent will pour out which 
must submerge Germany. Fie told me that all 
the risk you would run would be to have your old 
chateau filled with our officers, and that in a week 
from now there would not be a chicken or a tur- 
key or a goose on your farms, because the gallant 
French soldier would have exterminated them. 
My dear Pauline, there is no danger. I read to 
mamma that portion of your letter in regard to 
Madame de Yalbois, and what she said of mamma, 
and mamma feels quite complimented. Nonsense, 
child, about your aristocratic friends ! F’hough 
the Du Parcs trace their origin back to the Cru- 
sades (the Montfriands were only a goodish fami- 
ly, just emerging from obscurity in the beginning 
of the last century), you, Pauline, are v/orth ten 
times more than I, having a truer nobility of soul. 
But, my Pauline — but what is all this you write 
me about some contre-maitre, a M. Percival and 


38 


A STEUGGLE. 


his dog Bohe ? Take care ! I do not like Ameri- 
cans — at least those from North America. Passe 
done^ for those hailing from South America, who 
are more like Spaniards or Italians, less their origi- 
nality ; but there is an assumption about these 
l)eople from the United States which is annoying 
at times, because we can never place them. Imag- 
ine a youth we met in the Pyrenees last year, liv- 
ing en prince^ a gentleman spending his money in 
the most lavish way, the leader of the hunting- 
parties, the whole place, in fact, at his beck and 
call, a ravishing dancer, a breaker of hearts withal, 
who turned out to be a commis voyageur in a silk 
or dry-goods house in New York, the rival of our 
petit St,- Thomas ! You never can know who 
they are. You seem honestly, Pauline, to be just 
a little entichee about your dog and his former 
master. Imprimis^ send back the dog. I have 
so little sympathy for your caniche that, should 
M. Paoul de Valbois’s Persian hound swallow 
him, I should admire all the more Bobe’s mauso- 
leum. Suppose a contre-maitre does happen to 
have ridden on top of a wagon loaded with old 
iron, does that constitute him a remarkable per- 
sonage ? He may have lost his arm by some me- 
chanical mishap. Are you to fall in love with all 
the one-armed or one-legged men ? Suppose he 
did have his head broken in your father’s service, 
is he not paid just in proportion to the risks he 
runs ? Pauline ! Pauline ! are you not rehearsing. 


SKIRMISn. 


39 


all to yourself, a certain quite pretty story, enti- 
tled “The Romance of a Poor Young Man?” 
You and I read it once together, en cachette^ at 
school, and do you remember we borrowed it 
from that very Miss Smeef ? I asked mamma 
about M. Raoul de Valbois, and she sounded his 
praises, and assured me that she had always un- 
derstood that M. de Yalbois was some day or 
other destined to make you, my Pauline, happy. 
There is nothing of the inevitable about this ! I 
am two years older than you, ma mie, and might 
presume, not as much on my seniority as on my 
I position as a married woman. School-girl ro- 
j mances are dropped with pain au confitures. As 
to M. Raoul de Valbois, if you have not exactly a 
j community of sympathy, your fortunes are alike, 

I your ages approximate (M. de Montfriand is twelve 
years my senior, and I scarcely knew him before 
my marriage). So, Pauline, take happiness, even 
if it is thrust on you. Mamma, too, extols Madame 
de Yalbois, as possessing many amiable qualities, 
which perhaps you may have overlooked. Now, 
I pause just here, and, as I read over my last two 
or three paragraphs, I fear I may unwittingly have 
been dreadfully officious, and may have presented 
to you matters in quite an unwarrantable light. 
This M. Percival may be nothing more to you 
than any other Workman. But, Pauline, under 
your calm exterior I fancy at times I discover 
something like a tete exaltee. I even imagine I see 


40 


A STRUGGLE. 


certain womanly indications — weaknesses, Pauline, 
such, as spring from a heart which knows no guile, 
at least for me — I who am your best and dearest 
friend. You always reflected on the surface what 
was in your heart. That is why, in this insincere 
and hollow world, I always loved you. Long ago 
I went to that school of manners where feelings 
are concealed. Come, come, Pauline, forgive me 
if I have wounded you ; but I am a little afraid 
about you, not as to any risks ' the war can bring 
to the gentle chdtelaine of St.-Eloi, but because 
cooped up with Madame de Valbois, and having 
M. Raoul de Valbois en grippe, at least for the 
present, you might become pensive, melancholy, 
or, what is worse, fall in love with the wrong 
man. Your father dines with us to-day, and he 
shall fix the day of your departure from St.-Eloi. 
Now I dismiss the subject. My brother says we 
must bivouac in Berlin, under the lindens, in a 
month from now at the very farthest. No power 
in Europe can withstand the valor of our soldiers. 
All France is in arms, and the glories of the first 
empire will pale before the wonderful fortunes of 
Napoleon III. My father leaves shortly for Italy 
on a diplomatic mission, and my husband accom- 
panies him ; so you see, Pauline, how much I shall 
want your company. It is said that, notwith- 
standing the v/ar, the season will be a gay one. 
Your provincial toilet will want refurbishing when 
you come ; you shall have the full benefit of my 


SKIRMISH. 


41 


experience. The smoke of your forges has cer- 
tainly got into your handsome head, and given 
you such strange ideas that I almost think a little 
gunpowder in the distance will help to clear up 
your mental atmosphere. Come, then, to Paris, 
and the strong walls of the city shall protect you, 
as will the loving arms of 

Your very best friend, 

Cleme^^ce de Montfeiand. 

(From Hugh Fercival to George Terhune, of New 
York.) 

St.-Eloi, Yosges, Franck, July — , 1810. 

My deae Geoege : It must now be fully 
eight months since I wrote to you, telling you 
that I had obtained a position at the iron-works 
here. I am better both in mind and body. It 
will take, though, a long time before the remem- 
brance of all I have lost, that sad void in my life, 
will pass out of my mind. Perhaps if I had been 
left for dead at Cold Harbor it would have been 
better. Then I never would have learned that 
the woman I loved — your sister, George — perished 
when the false news of my death was carried to 
her. I must confess that the idea of my becoming 
a soldier of fortune, and of taking service in 
Egypt, never but half pleased me. I never wrote 
you how I happened to be in Alsace. It was my 
intention, with what small means I had left, to 
settle for a year or so in some quiet German uni- 


42 


A STRUGGLE. 


versity town, wliere there was a professor of Ori- 
ental languages, and acquire some of the more 
necessary Eastern tongues. Home was, if not dis- 
tasteful, at least painful to me, who had lost the 
dear one who was to fill it. I had been advised 
to take a pedestrian tour, to cure a certain shaki- 
ness of nerves, and was trudging through Alsace, 
when I stumbled across M. Delange, the master 
of quite an extensive iron- works here, who gave 
me employment. Somehow I have made my way 
very rapidly. Those eight years passed at your 
father’s iron- works were not lost to me. I have 
charge, now, of a vast establishment, which at 
the present moment is encumbered with business. 
M. Delange, in fact, leaves me almost too much 
to do. I break my long silence, because, since 
France and Germany are to fight, you might be 
annoyed at not hearing from me. Now, with 
what experience I ma}^ have acquired of a general 
strategic character, I am pretty sure that just 
about the spot where I am writing this, St.-Eloi, 
will be the exact focal point of no end of cannon- 
X balls. All France seems cock-a-hoop about this 
war, and thinks it nothing more than a tournee 
militaire. I am afraid they will be mistaken. I 
knew a host of German officers who fought on 
our side during the civil war, and from their abil- 
ity, and from what they told me, I am pretty cer- 
^ tain that France will have her hands full. I deem 
it singularly unfortunate that I should be even 


SKIRMISH. 


43 


I near tlie scene of action. I cannot leave St.-Eloi, 
as six months ago I entered into an engagement 
with M. Delange to remain with him for another 
year, on terms proposed by him, which were of 
the most liberal character. Of course, if the Prus- 
sians surround St.-Eloi I must capitulate, but not 
before. In the mean time, I am making shot and 
shell, and forging gun-barrels. Mind you, we are 
not over seventy-five miles from the Rhine, and 
our factory is known to be turning out materials 
of war. If there is a Sheridan or a Kilpatrick on 
the German side, and their cavalry-officers are not 
wanting in elan^ some fine day they will break 
bounds, and smash all our tall chimneys over our 
heads, for our smoke can be seen for miles around. 
I have an admirable set of workmen, and have no 
trouble. I fancy Alsatian workmen are the best 
in Europe for industry and good judgment. Of 
acquaintances I have none. M. Delange has fre- 
quently invited me to the house, a fine old chMeau, 
and would have liked, so I think, to show me that 
civility which is rather rare in France between em- 
i ployer and employe, but I suppose I have rather 
stupidly, if not coldly, though I trust not impo- 
litely, declined his advances. Nevertheless, I have 
been a forced guest at the house, having had a 
bad attack of headache, brought on by an acci- 
dent. The noise of the hammers in the forge — 
for my lodgings are in a house adjacent to the 
factory — would have retarded my recovery, so I 


44 


A STRUGGLE. 


was very kindly taken to tke chateau. I am quite 
well now, having resumed work a week ago. 
There is a Mademoiselle Pauline Delange, an ex- 
ceedingly handsome-looking young lady of twenty, 
the only child of M. Delange. Mademoiselle De- 
lange, for a French girl, thanks to her life in the 
provinces, seems to me to be quite a natural and 
unaffected kind of a person. I find that M. De- 
lange consults her sometimes in regard to his 
business, and occasionally she comes to the fac- 
tory and takes an interest in what is going on. I 
think she does a great deal of good among the 
workmen’s families, and plays an important part 
in their society of hienfaisance, I have been very 
shy of her ; for, though I half suspect she knows 
I am useful to her father, she rather distrusts me 
as a fitting guest at the chateau. She does not 
disturb me, however, in the least. During her 
father’s absence in Paris, she came to the office, 
accompanied by a Madame de Valbois, and the 
two interrupted me for fully an hour asking me a 
series of questions having to do with the military 
opening of the campaign, about which they really 
know more than I do, for my time is so absolutely 
engaged that I have not had even the chance to 
read the papers. Somehow I have the reputation 
of being a military oracle. Even the workmen 
ask me long questions, ending, Excuse me, but 
since monsieur has seen service, he perhaps can 
tell us.” I wonder how they knew I had been in 


SKIRMISH. 


45 


the wars ? There is a M. de Yalhois, a young 
Parisian Uegant, an attache of legation, quite a 
fine gentleman, who has condescended to make 
my acquaintance, and who was good enough to 
express his surprise at the character of the hooks 
I was reading when I was ill at the chateau. Both 
Mademoiselle Delange and this gentleman have 
been in the usine.2^ the afternoon, very much in 
the way, I assure you, especially as the lady in- 
sisted on having M. de Yalbois witness the making 
of a large casting, and I could not help being 
amused at the way the young lady enjoyed the 
spectacle of seeing a well-dressed man like M. de 
Yalbois exposed to a shower of sparks, which 
must have ruined both their clothes. There, I 
have given you the details of my surroundings, 
save M. Delange, for whom I have a great liking 
and respect. The master is a portly gentleman 
of over sixty, somewhat hot-headed and impetu- 
ous, with an indomitable will, a good eye to busi- 
ness, and who places, I am pleased to say, full 
confidence in me. Now, George, should you not 
hear from me for the next six months, do not be- 
lieve that I am dead. You will probably be bet- 
ter informed on the other side of the Atlantic 
about the movements of the opposing forces than 
I will be, who am likely to be in the midst of it. 
Pray be good enough to send to my bankers in 
Brussels what little balance of money may be in 
your hands belonging to me. The excitement 


46 


A STRUGGLE. 


and bustle here are at a fever-beat. I am well 
and strong, perfectly restored to health, and, being 
fully occupied, have less time to think of my past 
troubles. Most affectionately, 

Hugh Peecival. 

{Pauline to Clemence.) 

Chateau St.-Eloi, August — , IS'JO. 

Dear Clemence : I write you in an agony of 
mind. Ten days ago my father returned from 
Paris, apparently well, bringing me news of you. 
Three days ago he was stricken down with a ter- 
rible illness, whether from mental excitement or 
overwork we cannot tell. For two days he was 
perfectly unconscious. This morning for the first 
time he showed some faint signs of returning life. 
All my preparations for leaving St.-Eloi were 
completed — against my will, Clemence, not that I 
would not have liked to be with you, but because 
I could not bear to leave my father. As my fa- 
ther is so ill, you can understand, Clemence, that 
I must be with him now. My place is by his side. 
I could scarcely have found time, Clemence, to 
write you this, if it were not to inform you that, 
unless my father’s condition improves, I will not 
quit St.-Eloi. I have just had an anxious talk 
with our doctor. He says : “ Any movement will 
endanger your father’s life. With skillful nurs- 
ing, it may be a month, two months, before he 
can even take an airing in a carriage.” Think of 


SKIRMISH. 


47 


it, Clemence ! I have been almost alone in the 
chateau, and like it the better. M. de Valbois 
left a week ago for Paris, under orders from the 
Foreign Department. Madame de Valbois is still 
at the chateau. Yesterday the first wounded men 
came in, for there has been a hospital established 
at St.-Eloi, and, as the men were carried through 
the village, Madame de Valbois happened to see 
them, and has been hysterical ever since. She is 
not exactly selfish, only the war has unnerved her. 
It may do so for me, for aught I know. I do not 
think that Madame de Valbois can possibly re- 
main at St.-Eloi, as she has already expressed her 
desire to be within the walls of Paris. From all 
that I have gleaned of war-news I am afraid we 
may run some risk here, and there is no reason 
why Madame de Valbois should suffer on my ac- 
count ; so I shall throw no obstacle in the way of 
her departure, but be rather glad if she does leave. 
I do not in any way, my dear Clemence, think it 
in the least unbecoming for you to write as you 
did about M. Percival. It was the contre-maitre 
who brought my poor father to me, for the attack 
took place at the usine. All I know about M. 
Percival is, that he is at work night and day, 
though he calls morning and evening to inquire 
about my father. I have somehow commenced 
to think that, without M. Percival at the usine^ 
matters there, with the master prostrated, would 
be in dire confusion. I have learned to respect 


48 


A STRUGGLE. 


the contre-mattre, and, if you will have it, Cle- 
mence, to be rather in awe of him — only this and 
nothing more. My dear father is all to me, and 
so absorbs my thoughts that I sometimes forget 
that we are in the midst of a horrible war. Do 
you, Clemence, pray for my father’s restoration to 
health, and for France, and for your friend 

Pauline. 

{M. Hugh Pcrcival to 3Iademoisclle Pelange.) 

Grosheim, Augmt — , 1870. 

Will Mademoiselle Delange receive my thanks 
for the information she imparts to me in regard to 
the improved condition of her father ? Madame 
de Valbois I had the honor to escort to Kancy, as 
requested by you, and the lady is now on her way 
to Paris. In the present condition of the rail- 
roads, given up entirely to the army, non-military 
travelers find more or less difficulty in their move- 
ments. This little journey to Nancy, as I had 
the honor of informing you, can in no way be 
prejudicial to the business of St.-Eloi. At Nancy 
I obtained permission to use an accumulation of 
coal belonging to the government, now actually 
at Grosheim. This will explain to you why I am 
still at Grosheim. This afternoon I shall dis- 
patch a train of coal- wagons to St.-Eloi, so that 
our work will continue. I regret exceedingly the 
fact announced by you that the military hospitals 
have been removed from St.-Eloi, since they de- 


SKIRMISH. 


49 


1 


I 

I 


I 

I 

I 


prive you of the services of the surgeon. If M. 
Delange’s condition should improve, I would, of 
course, advise your leaving the chateau with your 
father, and seeking other, quarters. But the work 
at the usine must continue night and day. Were 
your father well to-day, it would be a point of 
honor with him to do his utmost to supply the 
government, and fulfill his contract as far as prac- 
ticable. A few hours before M. Delange was 
taken ill, he imparted his wishes to me to this ef- 
fect. Should M. Delange’s health be such that he 
cannot be moved, as you state, the path of duty is 
plain, and you ought to stay with him. I trust to 
be at St.-EIoi to-morrow. 

With great respect. 

Your very obedient servant, 

H. Percival. 


{Pauline to Clemence.) 

Chateau St.-Eloi, August — , 1870. 

Dear Clemei^ce : This may be the very last 
letter to you. Thank God, my father is better ! 
If this improvement continues, there may be some 
slight hopes of our moving him. My father knows 
nothing of the dire calamities which have befallen 
our country, that our armies have been vanquished, 
and that the blood of our soldiers is flowing like 
water. I hear the most sinister news, and I see 
faces all around me pale with alarm. Some of our 
best hands at the usine have volunteered ; others. 


4 


50 


A STRUGGLE. 


more timid, are removing from tlie approaching 
scene of the contest. The main road before the 
chateau is crowded with poor peasants, w^ho plod 
on in a piteous way with their wives and children, 
seeking safety in flight. It looks pretty much like 
isolation for us here. I am assured that, although 
our works are in one sense a source of danger as 
likely to draw an inroad from the enemy, strong 
efforts will be made to hold St.-Eloi to the last. 
You understand, Clemence, what that means. Al- 
mighty God ! am I to see scenes of carnage around 
my home, and my poor father deprived of even 
the necessaries of life ? The usine is still at work 
— a detail of soldiers replacing the workmen who 
have left us. O Clemence, I have been for two 
days in an agony of grief, all the harder, all the 
more terrible, because I have been forced to con- 
ceal the news from my poor father. General de 
Frail is dead — was killed in action. Brave gentle- 
man, whom I loved next to my father ! Some 
days ago I asked for tidings about him. FTo one 
seemed to bo willing to tell me anything. The 
day before yesterday I overheard Andre apostro- 
phize the portrait of my godfather, which hangs 
in the library, in such touching terms that I sus- 
pected he was concealing something from mo. 
“ Andre, Andre ! ” I cried, ‘‘ is the general alive ? ” 
“ He is dead, poor mademoiselle ! He tried alone 
to turn defeat into victory, and fell a martyr to 
his country. What a loss ! I never can see his 


SKIRMISH. 


51 


picture without talking to it. He was the bravest 
of the brave, and many a kind word he has said 
to me. Mademoiselle, before he left us, he did me 
the honor to ask me how long I had been attached 
to the family. On my telling him ‘ Twenty years,’ 
he said to me : ‘Andre, my good man, you must 
never leave them. Take good care of Mademoi- 
selle Pauline, my godchild, and M. Delange.’ 
Mademoiselle, come* what may, I for one, until the 
Prussians batter this house over my old head, will 
never leave it, nor cease to care for you and 
yours.” 

I My agony was so great, Clemence, that I could 
I not even cry. I fell on my knees, and prayed for 
the repose of my godfather’s soul. Think of the 
sad coincidence — the misfortune of the thing, for 
I papa sent just then for me, and the first thing he 
said was : “ Pauline, you give me no news about 
De Frail ? You may depend upon it, our general 
is giving it to those villainous Prussians. De Frail 
is one of those diir-d-cuire that no ball can touch 
or harm. When De Frail comes back he will be 
more insupportable than ever — such long stories 
he will have to tell me ! Perhaps the emperor 
will make him a duke. He ought to have been 
made one long ago. How I hope to annoy him 
I one of these days by calling him M. le Due on all 
j occasions ! Wlien we play whist together, I shall 
j say to him, ‘ M. le Due should not have trumped 
( that trick ; ’ or, ‘ If M. le Due cannot play better 


52 


A STRUGGLE. 


than tha’t, let him take to domino ! ’ Pauline, I 
think if I only saw my dear old friend again, I 
should get well.” Then my poor father laughed 
a merry laugh, and rubbed his hands in childish 
glee. I thought I should die. — I can wite no 
more. In this big house there are to-day but my 
father and I, Andre and Babette. M. Percival 
sent me a brief note this morning, stating that, if 
I had any letters for Paris, I had better forward 
them at once to him for transmission. I draw a 
terrible augury from this. Matters must be at 
their worst when postal communication is closed. 
I have but time to say, God bless you, Clemence, 
and may we see each other again ! 

For ever and ever, 

Pauline. 


PART II. 

BATTLE. 

“ Find me a lawn like this anywhere in France 
or out of England — I do not except even an im- 
perial or royal domain — and I will travel a hun- 
dred leagues to see it ! ” 

M. Delange had often said this, with almost 
excusable ostentation, when pointing out to his 
guests the beauties of St.-Eloi. 

During the period of the first alarm of a Prus- 
sian advance, French cavalry outposts had been 


BATTLE. 


53 


stationed right on that lawn, and, if the muzzles 
of the troopers’ horses had been plunged into the 
tender grass, their iron heels had torn up and 
trodden down the turf. Deep ruts had been cut 
in the lawn, which crossed and intersected each 
other, where heavy artillery-trains or lumbering 
provision-vans had been moved to and from a post 
j on a low hill which overlooked the rear of the 
; chateau. Away off on one side of the vast stretch 
1 of ground was a flower-bed, which bore some faint 
traces of culture ; for here and there a rose was 
still blooming. The soldiers had tried their best 
to preserve the plants ; but then when the soup 
had to be made, and rations were to be cooked, 
smoke and sparks would occasionally blow right 
athwart the parterre, so that all the pretty flowers 
had been blasted, smoked, and withered. Tired- 
out estafettes had tied the bridles of their horses 
to the arms of statues, or the handles of vases, 
which studded the lawn. Officers had in vain pro- 
! hibited their men from using a god or a goddess 
as a hitching-post, or a classic urn as a feeding- 
trough ; but somehow or other all the decorative 
portions of the lawn had fallen to the ground, and 
no one had the time or inclination to set them up 
again. The pretty kiosk, with its fanciful weath- 
ercock, still preserved somewhat of its unity, only 
its lower portion had been swathed in canvas. It 
had been used as headquarters for dispensing medi- 
cines, and even as a temporary hospital for officers. 


54 


A STRUGGLE. 


The shrubbery, once so dense, y/liich skirted the 
lawn, had suffered terribly. Stray horses had nib- ! 
bled the leaves of the bushes, and withered and 
blackened twigs hung from the trees. There was 
a pretty brook that stole through the clumps of 
St.-Eloi, feeding a fish-pond, famous for its carp, 
and here was the lilac-grove which was celebrated 
throughout the whole department. But as the 
stream had slaked the thirst of both man and 
beast, the banks of the rivulet had all been trod- 
den down, and there were ugly gaps in the under- 
growth where the cavalry had found a short cut 
to water. Of course, there was nothing which 
could have been designated on the part of the sol- 
diers as the result of wanton carelessness or willful 
destruction ; only, as during three weeks’ time 
numberless regiments of foot and horse and bat- ' 
teries of artillery had been stationed there, which 
after a short time had been replaced by other 
bodies of men, it was always the last division 
which had done the damage, and on whom the 
blame was naturally placed. All the horses and 
cattle had been driven off long before, and, of the 
many sleek and well-fed creatures which once en- 
joyed life at St.-Eloi, all that was left were a few 
solitary pigeons, which wheeled and circled in the 
air, and then lit disconsolate on some of the out- 
houses, seeking for their dove-cot, which had been 
accidentally burnt (so it was said by the Turcos) 
weeks ago. There had been, though, a kind of 


BATTLE. 


55 


I positive reservation as to military trespass, which 
j all the soldiers respected. For about twenty yards 
I from the terrace which surrounded the back of the 
I house, no common military foot had trodden. 
Sometimes wounded officers had tottered along 
the path leading from the kiosk to the chateau, 
and had sought rest on the broad stone steps 
which swept up to the entrance. Here the grass 
of the lawn had grown long and rank, and the 
j path was choked with weeds. 

The chateau itself had been undisturbed. Dur- 
ing a month moss and grass had grown in the in- 
terstices of the flagging of the estrade, and the ivy 
and the creepers had stretched out their arms across 
I some of the windows. The chateau had but a sin- 
I gle military personage billeted on it, and that was 
an old sergeant attached to the signal-corps, who 
occupied a room away up on the high, peaked, and 
slated roof, and where, in a window, a small flag 
occasionally fluttered. Inside of the spacious cha- 
i teau solitude reigned. As servants had left or had 
been reluctantly dismissed, portions of the house 
had been closed. Want of care was probably vis- 
ible within-doors, for layers of dust had settled on 
the furniture. Pieces of baggage obstructed the 
grand hall, and packing-boxes littered the stairs, 
j There had been apparently more than one effort 
; made by the inmates to leave the place, which at- 
I tempts had been frustrated. Two servants now 
i performed their duties at St.-Eloi — one w^as Andre, 


56 


A STRUGGLE. 


the other was Babette. The master’s illness and 
the necessary attention he required took up most 
of their time, though the occupants of the kiosk 
had never been neglected. 

“ Ah, mademoiselle,” said Babette, as her mis- 
tress emerged from M. Delange’s room, “to-day 
is likely to be one of rest — the calm before the 
storm, perhaps ; for who can tell what the hon 
Dim has in store for us ? The last of our poor 
ill officers left this morning ; and see ” — ^here she 
opened a window on the landing — “ save those sol- 
diers who are packing up the surgeon’s baggage 
and clearing out the kiosk, in a few moments not 
a soul will be left on the place but ourselves. Dear 
mademoiselle, I do not know whether to be glad or 
sorry that the soldiers have gone. Our good old 
friend the sergeant, he who plays with the little 
flags up-stairs, and who makes no more noise than 
a mouse, looked grave last night, and says — and 
says that we may expect le grand brutal before 
long. 3Ion Dicu! mademoiselle, pluck up heart. 
You must take a mouthful of God’s sweet, pure 
air this morning. You will kill yourself moping 
so within-doors. Is not Andre with our master ? 
The dear, good soul can want for nothing, for can- 
not Andre call on me ? I will have breakfast for 
you in ten minutes ; but you must walk just a lit- 
tle bit on the terrace in order to get real hungry. 
Can things get on more smoothly than they do, at 
least in the house here? 3Ia foil should ever 


BATTLE. 


57 


the good times come back again, I shall tell how 
we three carried on onr shoulders the whole of this 
big establishment. I am cook, gardener, nurse, 
watchman, lady’s-maid, and everything ! If the 
horses were still in the stable, I could groom them. 
It is an excellent breakfast you shall have. Quoi ? 
I allow those brutes of Prussians to eat up our pro- 
visions ? I^ever ! And, since these Germans are 
coming, they shall find an empty larder — all gone, 
as clean as my thumb-nail. — Ah, there goes the 
clock ; it is the big one on the stairs — ^the only one 
Andre winds up now ; and I forgot to tell you, 
mademoiselle, that at daybreak this morning, when 
I was up (by your instructions I was sharing our 
provisions with the poor ill officers), M. Percival 
came riding by, and asked permission to see you, 
mademoiselle, on important business, so he said.” 

“ What ! M. Percival ? ” 

“ He would call, so he said, at about nine 
o’clock. Of course, he asked very particularly 
about the master. He might have said half -past 
nine, for there was so much noise just then, when 
those ugly cannons went offi at full gallop, and 
the whips were cracking so, that I could not ex- 
actly hear M. Percival. What a tohu-hohu it 
was ! It was barely sunrise, and it gave me the 
shivers to see the horses and cannon tear out like 
mad into the gloom. Infantry is bad enough, but 


I cavalry and artillery ! Heaven protect me from 



58 


A STRUGGLE. 


poor Baptiste is a cannoneer, and may be now in 
the very midst of it. I know I am chattering a 
great deal ; mais, dam^ it does me good to hear 
my own voice sometimes. If there is a hubbub 
outside, here it is as still as the grave. There, 
now, I will go and arrange your breakfast. But 
only to think of mademoiselle having to breakfast 
solitary and alone ! Eh, mademoiselle, what su- 
perb breakfasts we used to have ! For who in all 
the department kept such a sumptuous table as 
our good master ? Oh, this war, this war ! ” 

“ Thank you, Babette, for all your kindness. 
But pray be careful of what little luxuries you 
may have left ; my poor father might want them. 
You say M. Percival will be here ? Bid Andre 
call me should my father awake. Babette, I do 
so thoroughly appreciate your devotion to my 
father — to myself — and I must never forget it ; 
and Andre, too. Yes, Babette, I will walk a little. 
I ought to do all I can to keep up my strength 
and health.” 

“ If M. Percival is coming, shall I not set two 
converts, mademoiselle ? ” 

‘‘ How, Babette ? ” 

“Ah, mademoiselle, d la guerre, comme d la 
guerre^'’ and Babette had tripped down the stairs. 

“M. Percival to see me?” said Pauline De- 
lange, as she went slowly down the staircase, and, 
entering a small sitting-room, sat down there for 
a moment, then opened a window, and looked out 


BATTLE. 


59 


on the grounds. Perhaps,” she continued, ‘‘ dur- 
jl ing the last fearful fortnight I have not seen M. 

1 Percival more than thrice. — O Clemence ! Cle- 
mence ! did you only know in what straits I have 
been placed ! There is not a single human being 
I I can apply to for counsel or advice. I care noth- 
ing for the enemy personally. They cannot hurt 
a woman like me — but my poor father ! Any 
sudden shock may kill him. Not a word — not a 
letter from anybody — save one, the very last from 
' Madame de Valbois, which assures me of her safe 
arrival — and that her son is in Turin — where he 
I may stay forever for what I care. I cannot even 
count on medical counsel for my father. One 
regimental surgeon is here for a day — and the 
next day it is a new one. They all, though, order 
; the same things — peace, and quiet, and repose — 
and that all the incidents, the calamities, which 
surround us, shall be withheld from him. I some- 
times think, though, as he lies so quietly in bed, 

) that my father is better off than any of us. Should 
he ever reach the window and look over the hill- 
tops for that dark rift of smoke which the chim- 
neys of St.-Eloi were always rolling forth — should 
he notice its absence — should he ask me the cause 
— what could I tell him ? When yesterday I, who 
am well and strong, saw that smoke no longer, I 
felt my heart sink, for I thought the doom of St.- 
Eloi — so long threatened — had at last fallen on 
j us. There is not a single soul on the lawn. The 


60 


A STRUGGLE. 


soldiers and their wagon have left. How dreary 
and desolate it looks ! Ah ! some one on horse- 
back is coming through the woods, and is riding 
rapidly. There have been so many openings made 
in the thickets, that whoever it may be is now 
quite visible. It is M. Percival — and how well he 
rides ! I think I see a valise strapped behind him. 
Can he be about leaving us ? And why should he 
not ? His task is done. But he seems in no great 
hurry now. I wonder if he is going to ride over 
the flower-bed ? No — he stops now, and dismounts. 
There is some water there, I suppose, for he stoops 
and drinks it. Can the brook have broken bounds, 
and be now running over the lawn ? What mat- 
ters it ? He has tied his horse to a tent-peg, ap- 
parently. What can he be doing? He stops by 
a fallen vase — it is the one with the serpent-han- 
dles — in which I once grew such pretty trailing- 
plants. He is trying to raise up the vase — but he 
cannot. How could the poor man do it with but 
one arm ? But he has found a bit of wood some- 
where, and is using it as a lever, and has actually 
placed the vase on its base, and is trying to put it 
on its pedestal. It totters — it will fall — no ! it is 
in position now. M. Percival deserves a breakfast 
for his ingenuity — for it is ingenuity. I wonder 
if I might offer him some breakfast ? He must be 
hungry, and hunger in a man creates sympathy. 
Anyhow, I am glad to see him. I hardly thought 
he would be capable of going away without bid- 


BATTLE. 


61 


ding us good-by — though he might have done so 
in a formal note. He is in the saddle again, and 
has probably ridden to the stables, where there 
are no horses now. My poor little Alezan! I 
wonder what became of him? There came a 
government requisition for horses, and they took 
him. I had a selfish cry over him and Bobe ; he 
left me, too. But was it not Bobe I saw lapping 
the water by his master a few minutes ago ? I 
shall be glad to see Bobe again. And here is M. 
Percival coming.” 

“ The good news Babette told me in regard to 
M. Delange is confirmed, I trust, mademoiselle ? ” 
said the contre-maitre, as he stood by the window, 
and bowed low to the young lady. 

“ He is better. But, pray, enter and be seated. 
That terrible disconnected way of talking, which 
my father had, was a new symptom, after his re- 
lapse. That is passing away, now. Still my fa- 
ther suffers intensely at times, especially with the 
least movement.” 

Possibly a better sign. If M. Delange had 
had paralysis, all power of sensation would have 
passed away. Mademoiselle ” — here the contre- 
maitre hesitated for a moment, then said — I have 
taken the liberty of calling on you on a matter of 
business. I regret to say that two days ago the 
fires at the usine went out for want of coal.” 

“ I had noticed it, sir.” 

“ Up to last night at sundown, by burning all 


62 


A STRUGGLE. 


the wood we could find, even at the expense of 
some parts of the building, we were enabled to 
finish u]) a great deal of the lighter work. This 
as war material we carried off last night and until 
daybreak this morning, by means of the railroad. 
We were fortunate, for, if I am not mistaken, we 
barely kept it out of the clutches of the Germans, 
who now hold a portion of the branch railroad 
over which the last work of St.-Eloi has j)assed.” 

“ The business of St.-Eloi is then forcibly 
closed, M. Percival?” asked Mademoiselle Pau- 
line. 

“ It is. I have the honor of transmitting to 
you a detailed statement of the work done and 
forwarded to the government, with regularly-au- 
thenticated vouchers and official receipts. It would 
be very wise on your part to have these papers 
secured somewhere. I must also state that, as in 
all government contracts there are heavy fines and 
penalties inflicted for non-performance, I took the 
liberty of consulting the officer in charge of the 
forces at St.-Eloi in regard to our government 
business, as far as it was completed, and he was 
good enough to compliment your father — ” 

My father, M. Percival ? ” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, your father — on the stead- 
fastness with which our work had been carried on,, 
under, perhaps, quite exceptional circumstances. 
I have said the compliment was paid most de- 
servedly to M. Delange, for the plans were entire- 


BATTLE. 


63 


ly his ; as to the method employed to carry them 
out — that was simply an affair of hands.” 

“ But allow me, M. Percival, hands are every- 
thing now. Had M. Delange any idea that such 
a series of catastrophes would occur to France ? ” 
‘‘ He was hopeful, mademoiselle.” 

“M. Percival, every detail of business has 
been in your charge for the last six weeks. I am 
very deeply grateful to you for having upheld 
my father’s good name. Had he not been pros- 
trated, he probably would have done no more than 
you have performed. Are these the papers ? Is 
that valise full of them? Pray, what do they 
represent? What can I do with these papa- 
rasse ? ” 

‘‘ They represent, mademoiselle, many hundred 
thousands of francs, which, come what may to 
France, save utter annihilation, the government is 
liable for and must pay in full some day. As your 
father’s steward in the case, mademoiselle will be 
kind enough, after having examined the papers, 
i to give me a receipt for them.” 

“ Who, I — I, sir ? I shall do no such thing ! ” 
“But, mademoiselle, this is business. I can- 
not see your father. Anything relating to busi- 
ness would distress him in his present condition. 
Even a receipt from him might not be valid. 
Your notary left for Strasburg ten days ago, 
which place he cannot reach, as Strasburg is in- 
vested. This receipt may be a formality for you. 


64 


A STRUGGLE. 


but a positive necessity for me. I therefore again 
most respectfully submit these papers to your no- 
tice. They contain, in brief, the amounts due on 
the various finished and unfinished contracts, with 
the sums expended by me during the last month. 
My honor, mademoiselle, requires that you should 
study the figures, and give me a receipt for the 
papers.” 

“ One moment, sir. I will sign the receipt 
conditionally ; the figures I have no head for just 
now.” 

“Conditionally? Mademoiselle, conditional- 
ly ? ” and here M. Percival rose and strode up and 
down the room, as if out of patience, and looked 
so grim and cross that Pauline Delange was ill at 
ease. Then he suddenly turned on her, and, no- 
ticing how pale and wan she looked, he said, quite 
gently : “ I may have misunderstood you. But, 
pray, sign the receipt. I accept any conditions 
you may suggest.” 

Then the young woman plucked up spirit, for 
she knew her motive had been mistaken, and she 
said, somewhat in hot temper : 

“ Did you take me, sir, at my age, to have the 
exacting spirit of a petty trader? You wong 
me, sir ! Did you ever discover any such traits 
in M. Delange ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle ! ” 

“ Conditions, M. Percival ! But there are — ” 
then her voice softened, and she added : “ Now, 


BATTLE. 


65 


what could I do with a valise full of papers, which, 
no doubt, are very valuable? St.-Eloi may be 
burned or sacked. Could I caiTy these papers 
about on me? My condition was even that of 
imposing a greater trust on you. M. Percival, 
will you not for my father’s sake become the cus- 
todian of these papers ? ” 

“ Who — I ? Excuse my hastiness.” 

“ You consent ? Then I will give you a re- 
ceipt.” 

I ‘‘ But, mademoiselle, that changes the business 
i entirely. For, if I keep the papers, it is I who 
must give you a receipt for them.” 

“You agree to it, then? It is very good of 
you. Suppose now we interchange no receipts at 
all, M. Percival ? ” 

“Excuse me. Mademoiselle Delange, but it is 
business. Allow me to use this table a moment.” 
And M. Percival wrote rapidly a few lines on a 
piece of paper, and handed it to the lady, who re- 
1 ceived it without looking at it. 
i “Now, M. Percival, that formality over — ” 

I “ But it is not a formality.” 

I “ As you will, sir. Will you be frank with me ? 
! We have had so many alarms before this — is the 
j danger imminent ? May the enemy be expected 
j soon ? ” 

I “ Mademoiselle, you have so far shown so much 
courage — ” 

I “ A truce, sir, to all compliments.” 

6 


66 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ As a woman you can have nothing to fear ; 
the Germans are not barbarians. St.-Eloi may be 
defended. This morning, when the artillery was 
moved from here, there was the rumor that the 
enemy had shown himself some five leagues from 
here. Should there be a serious attack, the cha- 
teau would be out of the way of a general battle, 
unless reenforcements from the town came this 
way ; then, I suppose, the Germans, getting wind 
of it, would repel an advance of our soldiers.” 

“ Our soldiers, M. Percival ? ” 

“The French soldiers, I mean, mademoiselle. 
But I beg that you will not put too great impor- 
tance on what are the most uncertain of all things 
— military prophecies.” 

“ But I must place reliance on what you tell 
me. I might not have done so once, for how 
could I know that my father’s contre-maitre had 
been a — ” 

“ A what, mademoiselle ? ” 

“An American officer. Among the letters 
which came from Paris — I could not help it, sir, 
because, anxious for news from my friends, I went 
personally to the mattre deposte — three weeks ago, 
that functionary handed me a letter addressed to M. 
le Colonel Percival. It came through your Amer- 
ican embassy, because it had the arms of your 
country on the envelope. Believe me, I am not 
curious. But the postmaster asked me if it was 
for you.” 


BATTLE. 


67 


“ But, mademoiselle, sucli a title is of little 
avail in the United States, and is so common as to 
be ridiculous.” 

“No, sir, it cannot be, not when you carry 
with it — ” Here the lady paused. “ But, sir, you 
are so sensitive about the loss of your arm — and I 
have never quite recovered from the mistake I 
once made in the billiard-room.” 

“ I am afraid I was passably rude, then,” re- 
plied the gentleman. 

“ I do not know,” rejoined Pauline, simply. 

“Mademoiselle Delange will be kind enough 
to call me M. Percival, and will know me only as 
her father’s contre-maitre.'''^ 

‘‘Very well, sir. But continue, though — I as- 
sure you, whatever you may tell me about the 
enemy will have weight with me, whether coming 
from the contre-maitre^ or from an American offi- 
cer and gentleman.” 

“ Any evasion on my part now would be cul- 
pable. There is not the least doubt that a corps 
of Bavarians are within striking distance of St.- 
Eloi, and that perhaps at daybreak to-morrow 
some of their inquisitive Uhlans may pay us a fly- 
ing visit. But war abounds with unseen elements. 
The enemy — ” 

“ They are your enemies, then ? ” 

“The Germans, I mean, mademoiselle, may 
break to the right and left of us, isolate us, and 
capture St.-Eloi in a week from now, without strik- 


68 


A STRUGGLE. 


ing a blow. In the present condition of affairs I 
undoubtedly pray they may. But if we have re- 
enforcements coming up, then there will be some 
fighting. In any case, the chateau and forges, 
being unsupported, would fall first, as our line of 
retreat lies in the opposite direction.” 

“ Then the chateau and usine might not be de- 
stroyed ? ” 

‘‘The chateau I think is safe, but the usine 
will be destroyed. It was your father’s wish that, 
whenever the enemy threatened St.-Eloi, and its 
capture became a foregone conclusion, it should 
be burned. This morning a company of soldiers 
were undermining our chimney-stacks, and put- 
ting powder there. There, mademoiselle, you 
have now heard the worst.” 

“ Somehow, M. Percival, if my father was not 
ill here in the house, I should feel more for the 
usine now than for the chateau. God’s will be 
done ! Kow, sir, what next ? You have promised 
to keep the papers.” 

“What is next? Yes, I might advise some- 
thing more. It is a delicate task, mademoiselle, 
but enters into my functions. Here is a rouleau 
of gold — only a thousand francs. I am sorry it 
is not more. Every workman has been paid. 
Pray take this money, and you had better secure 
it, hide it somewhere. It may be of great service 
in times of emergency.” Here M. Percival placed 
a small roll of gold on the table. “ That is not 


BATTLE. 


69 


all. Women treasure certain trinkets. Perhaps 
you had better conceal them, too. These are dis- 
agreeable details.” 

‘‘ What ! must I do it ? Oh, this is horrible, 
sir ! Is this one of the things which follow 
glory ? ” 

“ Since you have confided your papers to me, 
a much more onerous thing, if not a liberty — ” 
Here M. Percival hesitated. 

And will you, indeed, keep my trinkets for 
me ? That is so very — very good of you ! All 
my rings and brooches — those jewels my poor 
mother wore — are in an antique coffer up-stairs. 
Wait, I will get them.” With a rapid movement 
the lady flew out of the room, ran into the hall, 
opened a trunk, and, returning in an instant, 
brought in a small steel coffer, which she placed 
on the table. Here they all are. The plate was 
moved away some weeks ago. You never could 
I guess how this box is opened. You never could 
find the key-hole. See ! here is the key. Now 
shall I explain to you how it is done ? You do 
not care ? Well, I will show it to you some day.” 
Here the young lady came to a full pause, and 
blushed crimson. Then she added : ‘‘ It is a cruel 
parting. In it is my mother’s wedding-ring, and 
the little cross she wore. I did not think that any 
I severance from such material things could make 
one suffer so. There, take them. No receipt for 
these, if you please ; we do not give receipts for 


70 


A STRUGGLE. 


sentiments. Now, M. Percival, }e suis d vos ordres. 
What next ? ” 

“ I know of nothing more. These final pre- 
cautions, painful as they must be, conclude our 
business. We must wait for coming events.” 

“ But there is something more. Having the 
papers and my poor little box, you must, you 
ought to leave St.-Eloi.” 

“ Who ? I, mademoiselle ? You dismiss me ? ” 

“ Dismiss you ? Oh, no. Still there is no pos- 
sible reason why you should stay here. What I 
mean is this. Having accomplished your duty — 
fully — honorably — my — ^my father has no longer 
any claims on you. As an alien — I should suppose 
you would have no trouble in passing through the 
German lines.” 

‘‘ Who ? I leave St.-Eloi ? Do you insist on 
it ? If I am useless at the forge now, at the ch§,- 
teau it may be different.” 

‘‘ But, M. Colonel Percival, les convenances / 
You do not understand them. You Americans 
never will. It is not proper that even under the 
present circumstances a woman, even one almost 
alone, like myself, should be — ” Here she hesi- 
tated, and covered her face with her hands. “ Be- 
lieve me,” she continued, “ I am not ungrateful, 
nor proud ; only — ” 

“Xes convenances^'^ blurted out the contre- 
maitre^ ‘‘ must be considered as intensely stupid. 
Such peculiar, fantastical ideas are singularly out 


BATTLE. 


71 


of place and keeping at tke present juncture. 
People shipwrecked, men and women floating on 
a stormy ocean, must despise les convenances. An 
American or an Englishman confined in a tower 
with a young lady under unfortunate circum- 
stances beyond their control — ” 

‘‘You are repeating to me Octave Eeuillet’s 
‘ Romance of a Poor Young Man.’ Yes, I have 
read it,” cried Pauline, in confusion. 

“ If the hero had been an American or an Eng- 
lishman, he would very certainly have examined 
! the lock of the door first before he ventured in, 
to be sure of an exit, or would have invented or 
[ improvised a ladder to escape with, had he thought 
j such a course absolutely necessary. Your poor 
1 young man was an idiot to risk his neck, and the 
heroine of the book a silly girl, inclined to be hys- 
terical. French people look upon Virginie’s death 
as the height of romance. Paul was a sentimental 
fool.” Evidently M. Percival was losing his tem- 
per. 

i “ Monsieur ! ” 

I “ I must and will have my way. It is not so 
I certain, after all, that I could leave St.-Eloi. The 
forges of St.-Eloi have been running for the last 
two months turning out shot and shell, and I fan- 
cy that, insignificant as I am, still, as the centre- 
maitre of St.-Eloi, my movements might be ham- 
pered. Believe me, considerations of duty I owe 
, your father, who is so helpless now, the simplest 


n 


A STRUGGLE. 


dictates of humanity toward him, would retain 
me, if not here in the chateau, at least in its neigh- 
borhood. Alone as a woman, you might be pow- 
erless when the crisis came. What I can do, or 
how I may be of assistance to Mademoiselle De- 
lange, I do not know. I have, perhaps, no imme- 
diate business here ; but — ^but — ” 

But what, M. Percival ? ” 

“ It is only when I am positively certain that 
all danger is past — for the whole trouble will be 
over in twenty-four hours at most — that I shall be 
glad to receive my dismissal from the hands of 
Mademoiselle Delange.” 

“ M. Percival,” replied the lady, with a certain 
degree of warmth, “ I never used the word dismis- 
sal. It is an expression of your own coining. 
Your French has wonderfully improved of late. 
Only, at the risk of being rude, I must declare 
that you do not thoroughly understand the spirit 
of our language. You have, indeed, proved your- 
self to be a true friend, but what can I do without 
an adviser ? May your devotion to my father find 
its reward ! ” 

“ Devotion, mademoiselle ! There is nothing 
of the kind. Is it not natural, though, that I 
should feel some gratitude toward your father 
for all the confidence he has placed in me ? The 
eventuality might arise when I might even relieve 
you in nursing him. As his condition improved, 
he might be moved from St.-Eloi. One of the 


BATTLE. 


73 


reasons of my present intrusion, then, mademoi- 
selle, was to ask permission to occupy the keeper’s 
lodge at the gate of the chateau-grounds. The 
keeper left yesterday. It does look like a muve 
quipeutP 

“ Will Mademoiselle Pauline breakfast ? ” cried 
out Babette, entering with a tray poised on her 
hand. ‘‘ I have prepared breakfast for two, for of 
course monsieur will breakfast with mademoiselle.” 

“ Would M. Pereival breakfast ? ’’ asked Pau- 
line, diffidently. “ He is welcome.” 

‘‘ Fearing almost to trespass on your hospitali- 
ty, mademoiselle, I am forced to declare that I 
was dinnerless and supperless last night, and have 
certainly not breakfasted.” And he added, with 
a smile ; “ Should les convenances permit it ” — and 
he rose — “ I would like to see that my horse has 
not wasted his feed, for there is none too much of 
it. If, then, mademoiselle would kindly send me 
a bit of bread to the keeper’s lodge, I should be 
very much obliged to her.” 

“ Stay, sir — stay. You wbre my father’s guest. 
You are his guest again. A bit of bread, indeed ! 
This is ridiculous. Colonel Pereival. — Ah, Babette, 
this is a magnificent repast ! Where did the eggs 
come from ? I thought the last hen in Alsace had 
abandoned the place. — My poor maid does try so 
hard, M. Pereival, to serve me in the same way 
as in former times — that is, when I breakfast- 
ed alone.” Here^ Mademoiselle Pauline blushed. 


74 


A STEUGGLE. 


‘‘I think she has prepared enough for both of 
us.” 

“ Comment donc^ mademoiselle f St.-Eloi nig- 
gardly under any circumstances ! And I who 
baked every morsel of flour that was left in the 
house, so that there is enough to last a week — so 
that we may stand a siege. There is a bottle of 
wine. M. Percival shall try it. I am gar^on de 
cam now. There isn’t much left of a cellar. All 
the wine went to the hospitals, and those hungry 
rascals of soldiers gobbled the pears. Still I man- 
aged to secure a few. — Eat, monsieur ; show a 
good example to mademoiselle, who only picks a 
little like the sparrows. The last breakfast at St.- 
Eloi must be a success. Think of it ! One of the 
ofiicers who left this morning gave me a package 
of coffee. — O mademoiselle ! I am a splendid 
forager. But there is no milk. I pray monsieur 
will excuse it. The poor cows went to the mead- 
ows one fine morning and never came back again. 
It does me so much good to see you smile, made- 
moiselle. Still I could cry when I think of the 
grand service of only three months ago. Course 
after course on the table, and the chef busy with 
fifty casseroles, all of them stewing away, and the 
kitchen full of the most ravishing odors. I dream 
about it sometimes. Allons done, mademoiselle, 
do not mind my melancholy souvenirs. I have — 
it is a secret — private stores, which Andre and I 
have hidden away for the master, and the Prus- 


BATTLE. 


75 


sians might shoot and stab me to death before I 
would tell them where they are secreted. I, too, 
can be a martyr to my country ! I must go now, 
and will be up again in a moment with the coffee. — 
You need be in no hurry, mademoiselle. Andre 
1 tells me that the master is sleeping quietly.” 

I The breakfast commenced in silence, for there 
1 was evidently some embarrassment visible on the 
i part of the lady. Kow, if all food was square or 
I cubical, as represented by a parallelogram of 
! bread, for a one-armed man, the task of eating 
j such alimentary substances would be comparative- 
ly an easy task ; but with anything cylindrical — 

; an egg, for instance — quite another kind of prob- 
i lem presents itself, which is more difficult of solu- 
! tion. The guest made an effort or two to chip his 
! egg, and then with a laugh gave it up. 

I “Would you allow me, sir,” asked the hostess, 

! demurely, “to assist you?” And mademoiselle, 
with her pretty fingers, knife in hand, chipped the 
} unstable egg for him, and placed it comfortably 
I in his cup. 

“ It is the story of the fox and the stork,” said 
j M. Percival, pleasantly. 

I “ I do not see the allusion,” replied Mademoi- 
1 selle Pauline. “ But pray have no hesitation in 
! asking me to help you when I can. I fancy, sir, 

! if you will excuse my recurring to it, that a 
! certain amount of unnecessary sensitiveness was 
the reason why, when you were an invalid at 


76 


A STRUGGLE. 


the house, you never honored us with your pres- 
ence.” 

It might have been so to a certain degree, 
though, on my word, I was not conscious of it. 
The principal cause for my keeping my own room 
was that I really was very stupid from the blow I 
had received ; and because your father’s contre- 
mattre, though the first man at the forge, would, 
you must allow it, have been the last at your 
father’s table.” 

‘‘Not as Colonel Percival, certainly. My father 
is much more democratic than you think. At your 
age he had not your position. What impossible 
ideas you have, and how ignorant your are that in 
France there is a fund of bonhomie which equal- 
izes all ranks ! ” 

“ And M. de Valbois and the gentleman’s moth- 
er ?” 

Then Babette came in with the coffee, and 
Mademoiselle Pauline said: “Babette, M. Percival 
has decided to occupy the keeper’s lodge. Will you 
instruct Andre to make it habitable ? The house 
and grounds are under M. Percival’s care. — It is 
time now — you will excuse me, sir — that I should 
be with my father. Your visit has been a great 
relief to me. Now that I am prepared for the 
worst, those vague terrors which uncertainty ever 
has are removed. Again let me assure you how 
deeply I am indebted to you. So we are to ex- 
pect the enemy to-morrow ? God help us ! Of 


BATTLE. 


77 


course, you will come to the house for your re- 
pasts, such as we can give you ; and you will ex- 
cuse my presence if I am unable to see you. — Ba- 
bette, tell Andre I will relieve him now.” 

“ Mademoiselle Delange, I beg that you will 
consider how fully I appreciate the distressing 
circumstances in which you are placed. I sin- 
cerely trust that my presence will not be an an- 
noyance to you. It will be but the infliction of a 
day or so.” 

“You mistake me, sir, and pain me with your 
remarks. I trust in you implicitly, and have 
something more to ask of you. Here is a little 
ring — it was a parting gift from poor General de 
Frail.” (Here she drew off a ring from her taper 
finger and placed it in M. Percival’s hand.) “ It 
would quite break my heart should I lose it.” 

M. Percival seemed to hesitate a moment what 
to do wdth the ring. Here, for the first time, 
the poor girl broke down, and, sobbing, left the 
room. 

M. Percival strode into the empty hall, uncer- 
tain for a moment what to do. Just then Andre 
appeared on the landing above. M. Percival 
beckoned to him. 

“ Andre,” he said, “ all these trunks strewed 
j about here are a temptation to pillage. They 
must be removed. I have some idea, not a very 
I certain one, of the disposition of the rooms M. 
j Delange occupies at present.” 


78 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ There are four rooms. One is mademoiselle’s 
apartment — at least she moved there when mon- 
sieur was taken ill*” 

“ How many doors communicate with the land- 
ing?” 

‘‘ Two.” 

‘‘ That is unfortunate. We will blockade one. 
Have you ever made a barricade ? ” 

‘‘Who — I, sir? Yes, sir, when I was young 
and foolish, in 1830 and 1848.” 

“We will construct a barricade now. These 
trunks here will close one of the doors. We will 
move them. Come, we have work before us, and 
it must be noiselessly done.” 

It took an hour’s time for two men with three 
hands to accomplish their task. 

“ The second door you will leave as it is until 
you have instructions from me.” 

“ Has monsieur ever made a barricade ? ” asked 
Andr4. 

“Yes.” 

Monsieur seems to know all about it.” 

“ How, Andre, I want implicit obedience on 
your part. You must, after to-morrow morning, 
never lose sight of mademoiselle. You and Ba- 
bette, in case there is any trouble, will stay up- 
stairs in the rooms with your master and mistress. 
How there are two or three things I shall want in 
the keeper’s lodge.” 

“ Oh, I can furnish monsieur royally. Is it a 


BATTLE. 


79 


rosewood bed, a mirror, or a comfortable fauteuil 
be may want ? ” 

“ Nothing of the kind. I shall go to St.-Eloi 
at once, and will return as soon as possible. Dur- 
ing my absence, bring me a tin skillet from your 
kitchen and a bundle of fagots. Place them in 
the keeper’s room. You had, in fact, better do it 
at once. That is all I shall want.” 

Then M. Percival mounted his horse, strapped 
on the valise with the casket, and rode rapidly to 
the usine. Here he found several regiments of 
I infantry as if apparently on the move. He en- 
i tered the deserted factory, and presently returned 
with two or three packages. He was off again in 
a moment, and in a quarter of an hour had ridden 
back the few miles which separated the usine from 
the chateau. His horse was placed in the stable. 
Now he sought the keeper’s lodge, and made a 
fire, and, producing several pounds of wax, pro- 
ceeded to melt it. He took long strips of canvas, 
and, making a number of parcels of the papers, 
bound each up in cloth, and then dipped every one 
of them in wax. Then he made a big bundle of 
them all, put the casket in the wrappings, and 
wound around that more folds of canvas, which 
he coated with a water-proof varnish. For a one- 
armed person he worked very quickly — a certain 
very white set of teeth which the man had being 
used to great advantage in holding one end of the 


80 


A STRUGGLE. 


long shreds of cloth. As he finished his work he 
said, laughingly : 

“ Strange that I should be obliged to a great- 
grandmother of mine for this method ! She hid 
her treasures that way when the British captured 
her house. I have taken coffee out of an old urn 
which was swathed and buried just in this way. 
Family history says that it was underground for 
a year and more.” 

Then he lit a cigar, threw himself on the fioor, 
and presently was sound asleep. It was the heavy 
rest of a man who had had no repose for the last 
thirty-six hours. It was dusk when he awoke, 
thoroughly refreshed by his slumbers. He waited 
until it was dark. Then he took the package un- 
der his arm, ventured out, and walked quickly 
through the thickets which skirted the lawn. 

“ There is no light in the back of the house, 
for M. Delange’s room is in the front. I shall not 
want a lantern. How, there was a broken spade 
thrown away by the soldiers somewhere here — I 
saw it this morning. Ah, there it is ! It will an- 
swer my purpose. The water has softened the 
soil right by the vase I put in place this morning. 
Hist ! what is that ? That rascal Bob, I declare ! 
Quiet, you brute, or I will have to throttle you. 
I will take off my coat ; he will sit on that ; that 
will quiet him. I think here will be a safe place 
to hide the packages. The water of the brook 
will be sure to overflow the place. I guarantee 


BATTLE. 


81 


tlie papers, but the casket I am not so sure about. 
Fortunately, the coast is clear. I only see just 
beyond there a red glare against the sky over the 
town, where the soldiers have lighted their fires. 
Here goes ! ” And, saying this, M. Percival over- 
turned the vase, removed the pedestal, and com- 
menced digging with a will. “ It is the hardest 
bit of engineering I ever tried. Ah ! I have 
struck the hard soil below. It is deep enough, I 
think. Good-by, papers and casket ; and may you 
I see the light again on a more auspicious occasion ! ” 
Then he trampled down the dirt on the concealed 
1 treasure, replaced the pedestal, rearranged the 
I sod, and left the vase on the ground. He wiped 
j the perspiration from his forehead, and then car- 
I ried the spade into the thicket, Bob following 
' him. He returned to the lawn. Just then came 
I from afar off in the distance the sound of a gun. 
Then followed a few more shots, and now several 
volleys were heard. He started. How all was 
silent. It was not in the direction of St.-Eloi, 
but away off on the left. “It is a distasteful 
sound, and sickens me. They must be skirmish- 
ing off there.’’ How Bob growled, and M. Per- 
cival picked him up, and buttoned him up in his 
coat. Then he heard the clatter of horses’ feet, 
and he crouched behind an abutment which sup- 
ported the terrace. The rapid stride of a horse 
was now distinctly heard, and presently a lancer 
dashed at full speed across the lawn. M. Percival 
6 


82 


A STRUGGLE. 


held his breath. ‘‘It is a French soldier, I am 
sure of it ; hut here comes another, and not so 
fast. It is a courier sent with some news, or a 
Uhlan after the Frenchman.” The second horse- 
man came along rather more slowly, as if in 
doubt as to his road. Uow the moon rose, and M. 
Percival could see distinctly that it was not an 
enemy. Bob harked just then, and the man halted. 

“ Comrade,” cried M. Percival, very much re- 
lieved, “ your companion passed through here five 
minutes ago. This is the chateau of St.-Eloi. The 
town lies almost three miles beyond. Take that 
biggest gap there through the thicket, and you 
will strike the road.” 

“Jf/em.-'” cried the soldier; “my comrade’s 
horse was fresher than mine. You know the 
news ? General advance of the Prussians, and 
our cavalry-pickets are being driven in. I recog- 
nize the chateau. I was quartered here three 
weeks ago. It is not much of a fight. Ah, there i 
they are at it again ! A small affair ; but to- 
morrow we may have it hot and heavy.” 

“Thank you for the information. Will you 
have a cigar ? ” 

“ Much obliged. I heard a prisoner say that 
every Prussian soldier had three cigars a day, and 
that, when he was on the sick-list or wounded, he 
had all the cigars he could smoke. Listen again. , 
Pif-pof! How the powder speaks ! You are 
going to see some of the fun here. It is a real 


BATTLE. 


83 


mess we are making of it. — Thank you, I will take 
a match. There they go again. I don’t think we 
have any infantry there ; and those guns sound 
like needle-guns — our Chassepots have a sharper 
crack. Oh, I know them all. It is a music I 
have danced to quite often lately. So I fancy 
they are driving us in. There, I must he go- 
ing now — and luck to you ! — Steady, Cocotte ; 
don’t fret so, you old jade ; for it is quite likely 
that you will have a belly full of it to-morrow. — 
Good-night, sir ; ” and, saying this, the soldier 
rode briskly off. 

Now M. Percival ascended the steps of the 
terrace, and paused a moment before the little 
room where he had breakfasted in the morning. 
Suddenly a light shone there. lie stopped an in- 
stant as the sash was opened, and the figure of a 
woman was seen peering into the darkness. 

‘‘ It is I, mademoiselle ; do not be alarmed,” 
said M. Percival. 

“ I am not frightened. I fancied I recognized 
your footsteps. I thought I heard the sound of a 
horse galloping on the lawn some few minutes ago. 
Has the time come ? I heard, too, firing in the dis- 
tance. We are all naturally anxious and wakeful, 
save my father, who is sleeping. Great Heavens ! 
they are firing again. God save France and her 
brave soldiers ! Might I ask you what brings you 
out ? Is there anything wrong ? ” 

I assure you, mademoiselle, that the situation 


84 


A STRUGGLE. 


has hardly changed. The advance of the enemy 
is, perhaps, slower than I thought it would be. 
My reasons for being up certainly concern you. I 
have hidden the papers and your casket. They are 
under the vase you once cared for.” 

“The one you lifted into place this morn- 
ing?” 

“ Did I ? Well, I have upset it again to-night. 
Should any accident happen to me, or should we 
not meet again, you will know where to look for 
your property.” 

“ Kot meet you again ? ” 

“ Let me trust that my dismissal will come in 
proper time, and in the ordinary course of events.” 

“ Your dismissal ! But you are cruel, sir — ” 

“ Who ? I, mademoiselle, cruel ! Why should 
I be, when I am really distressed thinking of your 
many anxieties ? But I pray you do not remain 
up any more.” 

Mademoiselle Pauline had ventured a single 
step or so on the terrace. M. Percival — for the 
light had been blo^vn out in the room, and it was 
dark — proffered the lady his hand to lead her back. 

“ I am dreadfully muddy,” he said. “ Had I 
remembered that I had been digging, I should not 
have presumed to offer you my hand.” 

The gentle pressure of the woman’s fingers was 
relaxed suddenly when he said this, as if the touch 
of the man’s hand had stung her. 

She entered the library without a word, and 


BATTLE. 


85 


sank down on a chair, pale, trembling, and speech- 
less. Suddenly she gave a smothered cry. 

“ Ah, Bobe, is that you ? — He must have been 
following his master, and come in unperceived. — 
It is a comfort to have you, poor little dog ! There 
— there — listen ! They are firing now again ! ” 
And she shuddered. 

She was no longer brave in talk, but dark ter- 
ror came, and she clasped her hands in agony. 
Then she started and felt for her ring. It was 
gone ! She remembered that she had given the 
ring to M. Percival for safe-keeping. Then Bob 
jumped up into her lap, and she cuddled him, and 
now all was silent and still ; and wearied out, ut- 
terly wretched, she fell asleep in her chair. She 
had not slept more than an hour, she thought, 
when Babette awakened her. 

It is almost morning, mademoiselle, and such 
a precious fright as I have had about you until I 
found you here, a couple of hours ago ! Ilafoi! 
you were sleeping, and I had not the heart to 
wake you. M. Delange has not been at all rest- 
less, and has passed a good night. We are all 
alive yet, so it seems. Ah, there is Bobe ! Where 
did he come from? See how he has muddied 
your dress ! No Prussians yet. Not a soul on 
the grounds. The firing was dreadful. Perhaps 
our brave soldiers have driven the enemy back, 
and we are safe now. Ah, mon DieuI what is 
that? I know the sound — that rumble, rumble — 


86 


A STRUGGLE. 


and the galloping of horses, and the sharp rattle 
of swords and scabbards. The artillery must be 
coming back.” Babette ran to the window. “It 
is the cannoneers — and how fast they are coming ! 
It is our men. Oh, les fuyards ! the cravens ! 
^To — no ; I am mistaken. They slacken their 
pace ; they are coming into the lawn. I count 
one — two — four — eight — ten pieces. The men and 
horses are covered with dust. The officers are dis- 
mounting. What ! more men ? They are swarm- 
ing on the other side, away across the field, at the 
foot of the hill. 'Now that the sun is fairly up, I 
see their red breeches ; it is our men. Listen ! it 
is the roll of the drum — do you hear ? — and there 
sound the clarions. Ah, here comes a general and 
his staff. They all of them are dashing to the 
front. They have glasses, and are looking at 
something beyond the hills. Here comes an officer 
back at full speed, and now the cannons are being 
moved, and at full gallop. Some of the cannons 
seem to stick in the muddy places, and the men 
jump off the guns and push them along. Now I 
see tlie gleam of gun-barrels, and the base of the 
hill is black with men, and they are ascending it 
now on the run. Stop ! not all of them. What 
are they doing ? I see trees falling ; I fancy I 
can hear them crash as the trunks and branches 
tumble down ; I do see, however, the flashing of 
their axes. They must be making a breastwork. 
Now three — four — of the cannons are on top of 


BATTLE. 


87 


the hill. But it is so quiet beyond. I hear noth- 
ing — nothing. Still there must be something. 
There — there ! do you hear that crackling now, 
like the embers of a fire when it sputters ? There 
is a mist on the hill-tops now, but it has cleared 
off, and the sound comes plainer. The general 
has left a staff-officer on the grounds. lie is com- 
ing this way, and is riding full speed. Made- 
moiselle, has our time come ? ” 

Then a knock was heard at the door, and Ba- 
bette flew to it. 

“ Babette,” cried M. Percival, in a quick, im- 
perative way, ‘^bid your mistress seek her room 
at once. I saw a bunch of keys on the mantel- 
piece of the room yesterday — are they the keys 
of the house?” 

‘‘ They are. Monsieur Percival,” said Pauline, 
coming to the door. 

“Pray give them to me ; and for Mercy’s sake 
go to your room ! ” And now he led the way into 
the hall, and waited until the lady and her maid 
had disappeared up the stairs. Then M. Percival 
went out on the terrace. 

“ Ah, is it you ? ” said an officer, dismounting 
from his horse. “You may remember to have 
seen me at your works two months ago. It seems 
likely that the general may want to use M. De- 
lange’s chateau for an hour or so, though I am 
afraid it will be a mauvais quart cVheiire. It is a 
really handsome edifice, but essentially deficient 


88 


A STEUGGLE. 


as a place one could defend — a perfect trap for 
shells. All these old places go down like paste- 
board castles when only a shell is thrown into 
them ; a simple petard guts them.” 

“ Will the affair be a serious one ? ” asked M. 
Percival. 

“ The enemy is advancing in force ; we feel 
sure of that from the deliberation of his move- 
ments. We had quite a pretty affair a little be- 
fore midnight, when our advance posts were driven 
in. It looks like business.” 

“You never can hold St.-Eloi, and what is the 
use of trying to do so ? All the war material is 
removed.” 

“ So it is, and it was well done. But we must 
check this advance, if but for an hour or so. What 
I want to know is, the condition of the lower part 
of this chateau. Where the terrace faces the green 
here, there is a good bit of masonry with a fair 
frontage. Ah ! I see you have the keys, and that 
you are a man of business. Would you be good 
enough to show me the way below ? ” 

“ I will accompany you with your permission. 
You have no intention of holding the chateau, have 
you ? ” inquired M. Percival. 

“ Since the general sent me here, I should sup- 
pose he had some such idea.” 

“ But there is a lady in the house, Avith her fa- 
ther, M. Delange, Avho is very ill.” 

“ Can you not remove them ? ” 


BATTLE. 


80 


“ It is impossible.” 

“ By all manner of means, put them in the front 
' of the house.” 

’ “ They are there, fortunately.” 

‘‘ That is lucky, for the attack looks as if it 
would come from the rear. Ah, here are the cel- 
lars — and, delightful ! these walls are just thick 
enough to loop-hole without any great trouble. 
We wdll have to put a company of men here, whose 
services might be useful. Mon Dieu ! monsieur, 

1 the chateau of St.-Eloi might become famous as a 
I second Hougemont, if only we could spare some 
thousand men to hold it. But we can only do our 
best ; it will hold some fifty men, not more.” 

“ You are likely to lose all your men. There 
is but one small egress from below. Had you not 
better open some exit on the front, in case you 
; have to vacate the premises ? As undoubtedly 
the enemy are in superior numbers, the lives of 
all your brave fellows would be sacrificed — they 
w^ould be killed like rats in a trap.” 

“ Certainement, and why not? killed that or 
any other way — what is the difference? How- 
ever, we wdll look at the measures for an escape. 
We will drill a big opening through here. I seize 
the plan of the cellar ! Has monsieur ever been 
in a situation like this ? He talks as if he had been.” 

‘‘No, lieutenant ; never, thank God ! ” 

“ Well, I have now the whole matter plain ; we 
will ascend.” 


90 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ Might I beg yon to carry me to the officer in 
command ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly, since I suppose you represent the 
owner of the chateau.” And a few minutes later 
M. Percival was at the kiosk, where was the gen- 
eral. 

‘‘ General,” said the lieutenant, “ the terrace is 
quite practicable for the purposes indicated by 
you.” 

“Take twenty sappeurs and do the work. 
Mind, the loop-holes are not to be too close. Place 
two or three files of men there. Do it at once. — 
Monsieur, you wish to speak to me ? ” 

“ I do, sir. I am in charge of the chateau of 
St.-Eloi— ” 

“ And have come to complain. I have no time 
to waste.” 

“ You mistake my errand, sir. The occupants 
of the house are M. Delange and his daughter, 
once the nearest and dearest friends of General de 
Frail. M. Delange is desperately ill ; his daugh- 
ter is nursing him. All I pray is this, that the 
upper part of the house will, if possible, be kept 
free of soldiers.” 

“Certainly; I had no intention of putting a 
man there. Monsieur’s and mademoiselle’s wishes 
will be respected. Is that all you want ? — Here, 
some of you see to it : give positive instructions 
that no man goes up-stairs. — Is there anything 
more ? ” 


BATTLE. 


91 


‘‘Yes, sir; if not a liberty, I should advise 
your cutting the dam which holds the water of a 
little lake just off there. It will flood the grounds 
just beyond the abatis you are constructing, and 
perhaps retard a rapid approach.” 

“ Hein / You don’t say so ! You are perfectly 
familiar with the grounds ? You must be. I should 
be very much obliged to you if you would accom- 
pany this officer and shoAV him the lake.” An or- 
derly gave M. Percival a horse, and, accompanied 
by an officer of engineers, they both rode rapidly 
to the pond. 

“ You have seen service, sir ? ” inquired the 
officer. 

“ I have, sir.” 

“ Where, might I ask ? ” 

“ In America.” 

“ On the winning side ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ That is lucky ; it is hard to fight on the 
losing one.” 

“ I hope such will not be your fate.” 

“But it will be. We are frittering away our 
strength ; we are outmarched, outnumbered, out- 
generaled — all save outfought. Ah ! here is the 
dam. If the water was higher, it would be bet- 
ter. Luck is against us. We have had no rain 
of any consequence since the opening of the cam- 
paign ; no streams of water which, when rising, 
could check the German advance. Of course. 


92 


A STRUGGLE. 


when the Prussians are after us, there will be a : 
deluge to hamper our movements. Ah ! this is ' 
where the proprietor of the chateau fed his carp. 
Oh ! the fine, big fish I see there ! Decidedly, I 
should prefer fishing at the present moment. 
Well, ten men can do the work ; the supports are . 
but slight. We will go back, noAV.” 

Would you kindly tell me whether there will 
be a serious defense of the chateau ? ” 

“Certainly not. That would be exceedingly 
stupid. St.-Eloi, now that the iron- works are 
abandoned, and everything useful taken away, is ■ 
of no consequence.” 

“ I may go, now ? ” inquired M. Percival. 

“ Certainly. What a pity ! there will be no 
more water-parties on the pretty lake. But I 
know you will not blame me.” 

M. Percival rode on rapidly, passing through 
fresh ranks of soldiers, who by this time had come 
from St.-Eloi. Then he dismounted, and hurried 
to the house. “ My God ! ” he said to himself, as 
he heard the dull sounds of the soldiers working 
below, “ this is dreadful. If the lower portion of 
the chateau is held, there may be a hand-to-hand 
fight in the house. If the Prussians carry the 
hills, as they undoubtedly will, they will batter 
the house over our ears. What can I do ? One 
last effort : M. Delange must be moved. Made- 
moiselle Delange can be of no possible use here. ^ 
I can stay with her father. She would be safer l 


BATTLE. 


93 


anywhere than here.” Then he sprang up the 
steps of the house, mounted to the landing, where 
Andre met him. 

‘‘Your mistress,” said M. Percival, “go bid 
lier come to me.” 

“ I am liere, monsieur,” said a trembling voice. 
“My poor father is worse ; all this terrible noise 
and turmoil has excited him. He is so weak he 
cannot move in. his bed, yet he implores me in a 
piteous voice to let him rise and take arms in de- 
fense of his country. I cannot — must not — leave 
I him. Pray, bid me do anything but that ! ” 

“ I had come, mademoiselle, to implore you to 
seek shelter in the keeper’s lodge, and to leave me 
with your father. Andre and Babette might go 
with you. But I do not insist on it.” 

“ Oh, no, no ! Anything but that ! ” 

“ Only promise me this, then : do not leave 
your room. Quick, in with you ; and may God 
protect you ! ” and he closed the door on her. — 
! “Andre, one word with you. This, then, is the 
other door of issue ? As soon as you are in, drag 
all the furniture you have right up against that 
door, and barricade it, too. Ho absolutely what 
I tell you ! You understand ? ” 

“ I do, sir. Babette has strong arms, and we 
will manage it. I have some weapons here — they 
arc old, it is true, but very good ; ” and Andre 
showed a pair of antiquated horse-pistols. 

“ Give them to me. Arms Avould be useless. 


94 


A STRUGGLE. 


Resistance would only make matters worse. The 
soldiers are to do the fighting. Remember, pri- 
vate individuals who use arms are harshly treated 
by the Prussians.” 

“ But, monsieur — ” 

“ Do as I bid you : give me the pistols. I ad- 
mire your spirit, and feel sure you would use 
these pistols with true courage. Away with you 
now, Andre, and do as I tell you.” 

Then Andre somewhat reluctantly handed the 
pistols to M. Percival, who threw them into a 
neighboring dark closet. Then he listened until 
he heard the noise of furniture moving in the 
room. It was now evident that a sharp attack 
was being made. As M. Percival stood on the 
terrace, the puffs of smoke beyond the hills were ' 
apparent. It is one of the curious phenomena of 
war that, after the immense bustle and confusion 
which follow the investment of a position, there 
comes a period of repose. Occasionally a restive 
horse would neigh and paw the ground, but gen- 
erally even the animals were quiet. The volume 
of sound to the rear increased. An experienced 
ear could distinguish between the sharp and fre- 
quently-interrupted fire of the French and the in- 
cessant volleys of the Germans. As the firing 
came nearer, the quiet mien of the French sol- 
diers in and about the chateau-grounds changed 
somewhat. Guns were looked at, and cartridge- 
boxes were examined. Some men gave their belts 


BATTLE. 


95 


a tighter hitch and tucked up their trousers. Some 
half-dozen soldiers took off their shoes and fast- 
ened them on their knapsacks, preferring to fight 
barefooted. More than one man threw aside his 
cap, and hound his head with a handkerchief. A 
drummer who had loosened the snares of his drum 
tightened them again, and was playing the charge 
on the wood of his caisse. Officers looked at their 
revolvers, and walked or rode among the men, 
giving sharp, brief orders. Now distant cheers 
were heard, and a slight movement was visible as 
a small detachment of cavalry emerged from a 
wood on a distant hill. 

“ They are the Prussians ! ” cried some con- 
scripts. 

‘‘ Silence, there ! ” cried an old soldier. They 
won’t he there long.” 

Then there were three or four discharges of 
cannon from the advanced French battery, and 
away scampered the horsemen, some of the horses 
being plainly visible to be riderless. Now came a 
swarm of French chasseurs, who had been skir- 
mishing, but who seemed not at all inclined to 
follow the cavalry. 

Our chasseurs are running in ! ” cried a con- 
script. 

‘‘ Idiot ! ” replied the veteran, ‘‘ and well they 
may, for certainly behind that Prussian cavalry 
there are two or three regiments of Kaiserliche. 
You will know all about it before long.” 


96 


A STRUGGLE. 


Some of the chasseurs now entered the grounds 
of St.-Eloi. It was piteous to see more than one 
of them fall before they reached the lawn, to rise 
no more. Many little groups of three or four 
were seen bearing the wounded, the anns and 
hands of the dying men trailing helplessly on the 
ground. An ofhcer, his head bandaged with a 
handkerchief, came slowly riding in, supported by 
two men, one on each side of him. The general 
rode to him, seemed to exchange a few words with 
him ; then the officer was lifted off his horse, and 
placed gently on the ground. Then a surgeon 
came to him, and he was carried to the kiosk. 
The French guns on the nearest hill now seemed 
hotly engaged — you could not see the pieces for 
the smoke. But soon their fire slackened. It was 
evident they were not to be supported, and pres- 
ently they tore down the hill, and took position 
inside of the abatis. Still there was a thin line 
of French infantry visible on the elevation ; but 
they, too, gradually withdrew, and now solid 
square masses of men, slowly advancing, held the 
crest. Now a dull thud was heard, and M. Perci- 
val saw trees waver, then sink as it were into the 
ground. 

“ It is the dam that has been broken. It may 
stop the advance for a moment — providing, only, 
the Germans do not have any guns.” 

But they had guns, for presently a shell swept 
through the air and burst near the abatis. Now 


BATTLE. 


97 


the French had come under cover. The fusillade 
was incessant, and all the French cannon pealed 
out at once. 

“We are stronger in artillery for the moment, 
and it is well served. The end, however, is inevi- 
table. That battery cannot hold on ten minutes 
more without being captured.” 

Suddenly the fire at the abatis slackened. 
First one gun was withdrawn, then another, and 
now all of them were dashing across the foot of 
the lawn toward the road to St.-Eloi. Then the 
black masses on the hills moved rapidly — one 
surged direbtly downward, and another swept to 
the right. 

“ If we have no cavalry, those guns are gone. 
No, no! Well done! here come our horsemen 
from the wood. Poor fellows, how they are catch- 
ing it ! My God, this is beastly, brutal work ! I 
suppose I am nervous. If I were in it, I shouldn’t 
have time to think of it, and I have been in it 
sometimes ; anyhow, the guns are safe so far, for 
they are now on their" way full tilt toward St.- 
Eloi.” 

It was a fairly stubborn fight in front of the 
lawn. There was a check of a moment where the 
water had flooded some flat lands, but the Prus- 
sians were soon through it. Twice a charge was 
made by the Germans, and twice repelled. Now 
the French soldiers fell slowly back. But heavy 
artillery-firing on the right was heard, and balls 
7 


98 


A STRUGGLE. 


tore tLrougli the trees, and plunged diagonally 
across the lawn. Still the brave Frenchmen did 
not actually break, though their movements were 
accelerated. Now the first of the Bavarian skir- 
mishers were seen just beyond the abatis. A 
dozen men were over it — now they formed almost 
a company. The rear-guard of the French turned 
suddenly, and closed with them. Here a murder- 
ous conflict took place, and many a brave German 
paid dearly for his temerity. Still it was a useless 
contest, for now the main column of the Germans 
was in close proximity to its own skirmishers, and 
the French retreat was sounded. 

“If — if only the cellar is vacated ! My God, 
if I dared to tell those poor fellows that resist- 
ance is useless ! ” 

Just then the smothered roar of muskets was 
heard below him. 

“ The worst has come ; we shall have it now. 
It is getting too hot here ! ” cried M. Percival, as 
a ball flattened against the wall of the house just 
over his head and fell at his feet. 

Then he ran into the house, sprang up the 
steps, and stood by M. Delange’s door. There 
was a faint reek of gunpowder through the house. 
He waited a minute — ten minutes — then a dread- 
ful howl of rage was heard below him. The Ger- 
mans had burst open the doors of the chateau and 
had rushed into the basement. There were a 
dozen discharges, and terrific cries and impreca- 


BATTLE. 


99 


tions were heard. More explosions followed, 
which were continued on the lawn. Now the first 
armed man was seen below by the anxious watch- 
er. It was a Bavarian captain, followed by half 
a dozen men, who rushed furiously up the stairs. 
Sword in hand, the ofiicer sprang forward ; his 
soldiers had their bayonets leveled. 

“ Out of the way with you ! ” cried the officer, 
disdainfully, appreciating, apparently, the help- 
lessness of a one-armed man. “There may be 
some of the enemy concealed here. Quick ! re- 
ply — are there any soldiers here ? Have you no 
tongue ? Answer, if you value your life ! If I 
hear the discharge of a single gun, I shall hold 
you responsible. Our blood is up ; open me that 
door there, the one you are standing against, or I 
will throw you over the banisters.” 

“ There is no one there, sir,” said M. Percival, 
“ save a very ill man — the owner of this chateau 
— and his daughter and two servants.” 

“ Open me, then, that door, so that I can see.” 

“ I cannot ; the door is barricaded.” 

“Ban-icaded ! — Burst it open, sergeant. We 
will see. — I tell you, if there is the slightest 
treachery here, or any mishap happens to my men 
above-stairs, I shall not hesitate to split open your 
skull, though you are maimed and crippled. — 
Here, you men there, force open that door— fire 
into the lock of the door if it is not opened ! ” 

“The only French soldier I know of in the 


100 


A STRUGGLE. 


house now — at least up-stairs — is a man in the sig- 
nal-service, who may be on the roof.” 

“ There is no trusting any Frenchmen. But 
you are not French, and your German has an Eng- 
lish twang.” 

‘‘ That is not very strange. When you once 
spoke English, though you were fluent enough, it 
had a German accent. Lieutenant Muller — ” 

‘‘ Lieutenant Muller ? How do you know my 
name? And who the devil are you, you one- 
armed, cool man ? Yes, I do speak English. God 
bless my soul ! Donnerwetter ! what, is it possi- 
ble ? I find a man on a staircase in a chateau in 
Alsace that I left for dead in an ambulance in Vir- 
ginia ! You are Colonel Percival, as I have the 
honor to serve his majesty the King of Bavaria. — 
Lower your guns, my men. Here is a rencontre. 
But I may be mistaken. Give me my signale- 
mentP 

‘‘You were private first in a regiment I had 
the honor to command. For meritorious conduct 
I made you sergeant. In a month, for signal bra- 
very, you were a lieutenant ; and when I last saw 
you at Cold Harbor — ” 

“I was a captain. It is so. By all that is 
holy, you are Colonel Percival ! I could embrace 
you. Wait until the men go up-stairs after that 
poor devil of a signal-man, and I will. — Go up- 
stairs with you, and bring me down the prisoner 
— sharp, now! Do not be too rough. I know 


BATTLE. 


101 


this gentleman — an American — an old friend — not 
a Frenchman. — There, now, they are gone. I am 
so glad to see you ! I could kiss you ! Not dead 
— not dead ! ” 

“No, lieutenant ; since I surrender at discre- 
tion. And you ? I see you have made your 
way.” 

“ At the first sounds of war, I was off for home, 
and got an early promotion, and, if I am not killed, 
will rise higher. Ah ! here come my men with 
their prisoner.” 

“ I have a great favor to ask, sir. If these men 
are to be stationed in the house, I beg of you let 
no one come up here. You consent ? ” 

“ Bring them some wine, and I think the mat- 
ter can be arranged, at least for the present. It 
was hot work below for a moment, but almost all 
of them got off. You see, I dashed ahead with 
only fifty men — if I had had a hundred I should 
have bagged every one of them. What fun ! One 
thing more : who is this Yankee who is in business 
here, turning out shot and shell for these French- 
men ? ” 

“ Who ? who but I ? ” 

“Ah ! that is shrecMich.'*^ 

“ I was in M. Delange’s employ — have been so 
for a year.” 

“ Oh ! that alters the circumstances. But I 
must report it. For an old and cherished com- 
rade of that memorable American war, I can’t but 


102 


A STRUGGLE. 


try to help you. Leave matters to me. You are 
all gone up here. St.-Eloi will be carried to-mor- 
row, maybe to-night. We have got you all sewed 
up. It was a neat little skirmish this morning. 
We must have killed two hundred of your fellows 
between breakfast and luncheon. At that rate, 
there won’t be a Frenchman left by the end of 
the war season. I am going now to report, for 
I hear the main body coming. Listen to the 
music ! ” 

“ Thank God for this meeting, Lieutenant Mul- 
ler ! I was not mistaken when I knew you to be 
a brave, whole-souled man. I am so thankful the 
worst is over. I have no stomach now for fight- 
ing.” 

‘‘You were, though, the greediest man once 
for it I ever saw. If you hadn’t pushed me out 
of the way at Cold Harbor and taken the lead 
yourself, it would have been Muller that had been 
shot and not his colonel ; for, Donnerwetter ! you 
were my superior once. There, good-by, now. I 
will take the men down-stairs, and mind you send 
them the wine. Of course, as I captured the place 
I shall have charge of it, at least for a day or so. — 
Ah, what is that ? There is an explosion some- 
where — off that side.” 

“ I fancy it must be the old usine of St.-Eloi 
that has been blown up,” said M. Percival, with a 
sigh. 

“ Oh, is that all ? Report to me in an hour 


BATTLE. 


103 


from now. Here is a bit of paper. I will write 
you a pass on it — it will allow you to move about 
the house, otherwise my men might annoy you. 
You see you must come to me, and tell me about 
all the good friends I have left behind me. I 
want to compare notes with you. In America we 
fought a kind of inspired fight; here it is a mathe- 
matical one. Both results conclude with no end 
of broken heads. Adieu — for an hour. — Take 
charge of the prisoner, men. Forward ! ” and 
Muller tramped down-stairs, followed by his some- 
what astonished men. 

Then Percival felt nervous and shaky for a 
moment before he could realize the danger the in- 
mates of the house had passed through. 

“ C’est Jini f ” he heard a voice inquire, in a 
hollow whisper. He looked up, and Babette’s 
face, as pale as a ghost’s, appeared in a lucarne 
window opposite from M. Delange’s room. ‘‘You 
are not killed — or hurt ? ” 

“ It is all over, Babette, and the worst of it is 
not so bad, after all. Bid Andre move the fur- 
niture. Assure mademoiselle that all danger is 
past.” 

The face disappeared, and presently the move- 
ment of furniture was heard, and before long the 
door was opened. M. Percival stood in the en- 
trance. Babette gazed at him a moment ; then 
crying, “ Excuse me, sir,” rushed at him and kissed 
him. “ I saw it all ; how brave and cool you 


104 


A STRUGGLE. 


were ! I wanted to scream when I saw those 
brutes tear up the stairs. Mademoiselle is well — 
even the master is not so much worse. Andi’e 
has told him we are captives. Will they put us 
in the cellars, and feed us on hr ead-and- water ? I 
have told mademoiselle all about it.” 

‘‘ It is well, Babette ; now go quickly down- 
stairs, ask for Captain Muller, and have some wine 
ready — all you can spare — do not stint it. You 
are not afraid ? I will be with you in a moment.” 

“Who — I afraid? Not a bit of it! If any 
one dares to lay a hand on me I will box his ears, 
and my arm and hand are solid. What wine w^e 
have left I placed in the room below ; I will go 
and fetch it.” And Babette, apparently not the 
least discomposed, went down the stairs. M. Per- 
cival still lingered. Now Bob found his master, 
and rushed to him, barking for joy. 

“ O Monsieur Percival ! ” said Mademoiselle 
Pauline, coming to the door, “ how can I express 
my gratitude ? I think an interval of repose has 
followed my poor father’s late excited condition. 
Andre and I have tried to acquaint him with our 
situation. Must we leave the house ? These 
Prussians will not have the heart to drive us 
forth ! ” 

“ I see no necessity for it, mademoiselle. Just 
now, perhaps, we may be considered in durance ; 
but it is captivity in its mildest form. Later in 
the day, if you think M. Delange could see me, I 


BATTLE. 


105 


would like to pay my respects to him. Will you 
kindly inform him of my intended visit ? ” 

The door leading to the invalid’s room was half 
open, and a querulous voice said : I hear the eon- 
tre-mattre. I want to see him. Bid him come to 
me. You must not keep secrets from me. Are 
the works captured ? Andr6, look out of the win- 
dow. Do you see any smoke ? You don’t reply ? 
Stupid fellow ! Are you an idiot ? Yes, or no ? 
I will see M. Percival. I order you, Andre, to 
bring him to me at once.” 

“Will you go? Pray do, M. Percival. It 
were as well to see him now, and to tell him all,” 
said Mademoiselle Pauline. 

M. Percival went noiselessly into the ill man’s 
room. 

“It is I, sir ; and I am so glad to hear your voice 
and see you once more ! Now, let me make the 
briefest kind of a report to you. For two months, 
just as if you had been there, the work at the usine 
has gone on. Two days ago we finished the most 
important parts of the government contracts, and 
sent them off — ” 

“ The Prussians did not get the war-material ? 
That was well done. Bravo ! ” 

“ Now, my brave old master” — and M. Perci- 
val took M. Delange’s hand in his — “the Prus- 
sians hold the chateau.” 

“ Have my positive orders about the usine been 
carried out ? ” 


106 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ I think so.” 

“ There has been a fight quite near. I know 
it. The house shook with explosions. Take what 
care you can of the grounds. If the Germans 
want to see me, perhaps in a day or so they can do 
so. Of course we will have to decamp. Where 
is Pauline? My poor child ! one wouldn’t think 
from looking at her that she was frightened. So 
the last of all the shot and shell were sent off. 
How did you manage it ? I do not care a snap of 
my finger if France ever pays me or not.” 

“ Are you not talking too much, dear father ? ” 
said the daughter. 

“This is business, Pauline. — M. Percival, in 
the middle of France I own a property. We will 
go there. I will start a big establishment. It 
will be a good ways from these Germans, where 
they cannot reach us. Ha ! ha ! we will outwit 
them yet. I may be crippled a little in mind and 
body, but not killed outright. There, that will 
do. I am not a bit the worse for this little talk. 
I have made up my mind not to worry about 
things. In a day or so I will be stronger ; then 
you and I will lay our heads together.” 

Then M. Delange shut his eyes, and Mademoi- 
selle Pauline and M. Percival stole out of the 
room. 

“ He will get better ; I am sure of it,” said M. 
Percival, joyfully. “ He must have medical ad- 
vice now.” 


BATTLE. 


107 


“ What, sir ! one of those German surgeons ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly ; there are no better.” 

“ You insist on it, M. Percival ? ” 

“ Not insist — I have no right to insist. Why, 
mademoiselle, do you resist what seems to me to 
he now inevitable ? By the greatest piece of good 
luck I happen to know the officer who will he, 
perhaps, in charge here. I must present you to 
him.” 

“ WTiat ! must I affiliate with our enemies ? 
Can you ask me such a thing ? ” 

“I do ask it. Mademoiselle has, I am fully 
aware, dignity enough to command respect. The 
enemy has so far acted with a certain amount of 
gallantry. I have seen soldiers, and even officers, 
when in a house, when red-handed, act with much 
less consideration. I am afraid you will consider 
me as an alarmist.” 

“ Suppose they had thrown you over the balus- 
trade, and you had had your brains dashed out on 
the marble pavement below ? They threatened it 
— this gallant enemy ! Babette has told me all 
about it.” 

“ It was really nothing but bluster. You see, 
my having but one arm was exactly the condition 
necessary to arrest their anger.” 

“ You knew the officer in charge ? What a 
coarse, brutal voice he had! I shall never ap- 
proach him without a feeling of horror.” 

‘‘Mademoiselle, that very man served under 


108 


A STEUGGLE. 


me once, and was a brave soldier and a true friend. 
Lieutenant Muller, when I was hurt, carried me 
off the field, right through a murderous fire. I 
know there is a natural aversion all women feel 
at meeting an enemy of their country ; but Mtil- 
ler was only doing his duty.” 

“ He saved your life, and wanted to take it 
again ! Still his voice is not a pleasant one, espe- 
cially when coupled with a sabre pointed at a 
man’s breast. But you do not mean to say that 
you have ever rushed sword in hand into a 
private house threatening blood and extermina- 
tion ? ” 

“ The action you describe goes with glory. I 
do not remember to have been ever forced to do 
it ; still, if I had been acting under orders, or 
thought it necessary, I might have been even less 
gentle than Captain Muller. There was a fight, I 
am afraid, in the lower part of the chateau. Men 
waive considerations of politeness when they storm 
a house. But spare me the details.” 

“ Listen to them now ! They are bursting 
open the doors below — the wretches ! They are 
laughing and shouting. The impertinence of the 
thing ! Do you hear ? They are absolutely play- 
ing on my Erard piano ! How the brute is thump- 
ing on it ! And now a man is singing ; and there 
goes a chorus. Do not smile, M. Percival ; it is ~ 
irritating to a degree ! Such sounds of hilarity 
are dreadfully out of place. I have not ventured . 


4 

. 1 ; 


BATTLE. 


109 


to look out. There may be dead and wonnded on 
the lawn. My God ! how fearful is war ! The 
hubbub is worse and worse. Now they are laugh- 
ing and roaring. For Heaven’s sake, beg this 
Captain Mtiller to bid his bandits cease ! ” 

“ I should be powerless. The piano is really 
the only sufferer. Listen, mademoiselle : there is 
a touch for you which certainly displays more 
physique than sentiment. Let them sing ; music 
never was more timely. All I can do is to try 
and prevent intrusion from below. Pluck up spir- 
its, mademoiselle. I swear to you that the worst 
is over, at least for the present. St.-Eloi will fall. 
The absence of firing — it ceased some time ago — ■ 
means that it has been abandoned by our soldiers, 
and this part of the country is virtually separated 
from France. Now I have no longer any business 
here. If permitted to do so by the Prussians — 
and doubtless Captain Muller will help me — I 
shall get a pass. Thence to Hamburg or Bremen 
is an affair of but a few days. M. Helange is so 
much improved that perhaps in a week or so you 
might move him, and find safer quarters than in 
this chateau.” 

“ Monsieur, you shock, you distress me ! 
What ! you are going to leave us ? Can you en- 
tertain such an idea ? If the crisis is past, I am 
still as much in wani of help as ever ; and you 
ought to see it.” 

‘‘ Do you bid me stay, mademoiselle ? ” 


110 


A STRUGGLE. 


‘‘ Who— I ? I cannot assume now the position 
of one who gives orders or commands. But ” — 
here she paused, and seemed to measure her words 
— ‘‘if you think my poor father would feel no 
pang at your departure, you are mistaken. What ! 
M. Percival, just as my father seems to be return- 
ing, thank God ! to convalescence, at least, you 
want to bid us coolly good-by ? As to his daugh- 
ter, sir — ” 

“Say not another word, mademoiselle. If I 
can be of any use to M. Delange, I will remain. 
My intended departure from St.-Eloi might be in 
a week or ten days hence. I am very happy that 
my services are thought of some avail. There, 
mademoiselle, the piano has ceased now. Allow 
me, then, to enter into my functions. There must 
be means found for sending tidings of your con- 
dition to your friends.” 

“ Friends ! There is but one friend ; she is in 
Paris. It is Madame de Montfriand ; and can 
you communicate with her ? ” 

“ Very possibly.” 

“ I will give you her address. You must wi-ite 
her that I am well ; that my father is better ; and 
that M. Percival has — ” 

“ Well, mademoiselle ? ” 

“ Has been very good to us.” 

“ Nonsense ! My name must not appear. Is 
there no one else ? — no one in France, besides, to 
write to ? ” 


i. 


BATTLE. 


Ill 


“No one,” replied Mademoiselle Pauline, re- 
flectively. 

“You are very positive?” asked M. Percival. 
“ Not that lady, Madame de Valbois ?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“Nor M. de Valbois, a pleasant gentleman, 
who was more than once very affable and consid- 
erate with me ? ” 

Here Pauline Delange stamped her foot and 
said : “What ! M. de Valbois patronize M. Per- 
cival? I write to Raoul de Valbois? Why 
should I ? What a preposterous idea you Ameri- 
cans must have of what is fitting for a French- 
woman to do ! ” 

“ Les convenances again, I suppose,” said M. 
Percival ; “ but,” continued the contre-maitre^ de- 
murely, “ from what I heard — if not presuming 
too much, mademoiselle — M. de Valbois would 
have the right to hear from you — ^to hear from 
you among the very first.” 

“ You are talking about matters you do not at 
all understand in quite an unwarrantable way,” 
replied the lady, in a petulant mood, “ and it is 
unkind and heartless.” 

“ Excuse my presumption. I thought, made- 
moiselle — ” 

“ You had no right to think at all.” 

“ Certainly not as a contre-maitre,^^ 

“You could not write to him if you tried, 
though you may if you wish to. There — any- 


112 


A STRUGGLE. 


thing you like. As your gallant soldiers will prob- 
ably pillage my trunks, write M. de Valbois to — 
to send me a dozen pairs of Italian kid-gloves, 
three buttons on the wrist ; they make them well 
and cheaply where he is — in Turin, I believe.” 
And, without vouchsafing M. Percival another 
word, the young lady sought her room. Having 
first satisfied herself that her father was doing 
well, she threw herself on her bed, and indulged 
in a hearty fit of weeping. 


PART III. 

TRUCE. 

Haughty Lancelot, brave Geraint, bold Bedi- 
vere, might have been good King Arthur’s choicest 
and most gallant knights, but, quartered in a 
castle, captured by them sword in hand, very cer- 
tainly they would not have been desirable guests. 
Lieutenant Muller did what he could for the in- 
mates of the chateau. He was more than a good- 
natured conqueror — he was a sympathetic victor. 
Still the condition of the occupants was not a 
pleasant one. Of pillage there was none, though 
in a few hours there was not a drop to drink nor 
a crumb to eat in the house. Babette’s stores, 
discovered in an instant, were devoured before her 
eyes, though she fought bravely for them, and 


TRUCE. 


113 


ruffled her feathers as uselessly as would a hen be- 
j fore a pack of wolves. If perhaps to-day some 
I few articles of hric-d-brac adorn parlors in Munich 
j and are labeled “Von dem Schlosse St.-Eloi, El- 
I sass, 1870,” such little trophies may be considered 
simply as the legitimate fruits of conquest. For 
a tired soldier with muddy boots, a quilted sofa 
in the grand drawing-room of St.-Eloi was always 
inviting, and the pleasure of repose had increased 
charms, if his feet were comfortably placed. The 
piano was in constant demand, and was sonorous 
from morning to night. As to the billiard-tables, 
their cloths were worn threadbare in a week. As 
Lieutenant Mtiller had supposed, for having really 
done a gallant thing, he was placed by the German 
authorities for the time being in charge of the 
chateau. St.-Eloi, the town, had fallen without a 
blow. In a week nearly all the vestiges of the 
skirmish around the house had disappeared. The 
dead had been buried, the wounded had been car- 
ried to the town, where a temporary hospital had 
been established, and the abatis had been burned 
by the conquerors. Gradually the soldiers with- 
drew from the main body of the house, and were 
quartered in one of the wings. M. Percival, Lieu- 
tenant Muller, and two German officers, occupied 
the porter’s lodge, which M. Percival was wise 
enough to have had comfortably furnished. Sen- 
tinels still kept watch and ward over St.-Eloi. 
With a certain amount of consideration, Lieuten- 
8 


114 


A STRUGGLE. 


ant Muller, after an inspection of the house, had 
kept himself aloof from its inmates. It was M. 
Percival who acted as the parliamentarian inter- 
medium. An introduction to Mademoiselle De- 
lange became a necessity. When first mooted by 
M. Percival it was indifferently received. “ He 
must be a coarse, brutal character. You seem to 
enjoy his company. I can hear roars of laughter 
coming from the lodge. Your voice, sir, is dis- 
tinguishable at times. You must be in perfect 
accord with our conquerors. Perhaps you are 
laughing at us ! Very certainly you must deem 
them more agreeable companions than can be 
found in our deserted house. The hospital-sur- 
geon you brought is a very worthy person. He 
reports quite favorably in regard to my father, 
but there is great difficulty in getting certain pre- 
scriptions.” 

“ I am pleased to say, mademoiselle, that Lieu- 
tenant Muller has sent to Munich for the medi- 
cines. They ought to be here to-day.” 

“ It was done at your instigation ? ” 

“Hot at all. If you have any thanks to give, 
they are entirely due to a gentleman whom you 
have apostrophized as coarse and brutal.” 

An introduction took place, and, though Ma- 
demoiselle Delange held the Bavarian officer en 
grippe and was passably overbearing at times, 
after a while, strange to say, she commenced to 
like him. Was it a certain amount of female in- 


TRUCE, 


115 


quisitiveness wliicli led her in a very natural way 
to make many inquiries in regard to M. Percival ? 
It was a dreadful shock she received when she 
heard from Lieutenant Muller that Colonel Per- 
cival had been engaged to be married in America, 
and tears fell from her eyes when she learned how 
Colonel Percival’s betrothed had died, when a false 
report had come of the colonel’s death on the bat- 
tle-field. “ That was, I suppose, mademoiselle, the 
reason why my good friend Percival left America. 
With a very calm exterior, he hides some very 
strong emotions, which play the deyil with a man. 
I am different. If I am shot, of course Bertha — 
for I am to marry Fraulein Bertha — would cry her 
eyes out. Had Colonel Percival not left the army 
he would have been a general. He was the fiercest 
man in a fight you ever saw. Do you know, ma- 
demoiselle, when I see him suddenly I forget my- 
self at times and touch my cap to him, as if he 
were still my commanding officer ? Oh, the good 
times we used to have together ! ” 

Those half -anxious days which followed the 
capture of the chateau, with its garrison and Lieu- 
tenant Muller, did not long continue, as Muller 
was ordered to the front, and some other officer 
took charge of the place. Matters grew worse. 
The change was not a pleasant one. A series of 
annoyances commenced, at first petty and disa- 
greeable, but which at times were serious. M. 
Delange was not exactly a refractory prisoner, but 


116 


A STRUGGLE. 


an irritable one. He was impetuous, unguarded, 
and expressed his mind roundly with every new- 
comer. The lawn was a special subject of conten- 
tion. Rather loutish officers stood in their posi- 
tion as victors, and were arrogant and overbearing 
in their behavior. As M. Helange’s health im- 
proved, he became more and more irascible. A 
German uniform to him had the same effect as a 
red mantle on a bull, and he was forced to see at 
all times what was distasteful to him. Now, as 
new levies were collected and marched through 
Alsace, St.-Eloi, unfortunately, became a German 
military highway. Provisions began to be scarce, 
and at times the inmates of St.-Eloi were in abso- 
lute want. By-and-by, in October, when German 
victory followed victory, and no possible attempt 
could be made on the part of France to rescue 
Alsace, the single company from the chateau was 
withdrawn, and St.-Eloi was comparatively free. 
In the town there was a regiment of Landwehr. 
M. Delange and his daughter were delighted. M. 
Percival on the receipt of the news looked grave, 
but why they could not imagine. 

“Would M. Delange allow him to live in the 
house now ? ” asked M. Percival. 

“ Certainly — what a question ! ” replied M. De- 
lange. 

“I suppose you miss your boon comrades?” 
said mademoiselle. “ There are certain attractions 
about a guard-house or a mess-table which I fancy 


TRUCE. 


117 


a woman never can appreciate. I know you used 
to smoke dreadfully there. Oh, what wretched 
tobacco-slaves are those delectable Prussians ! — 
As you will be in thralldom here, papa, I suppose, 
will allow you to smoke. In fact, as the surgeon 
has forbidden your smoking, papa, and you have 
saved, or at least Andre has, some of your Lon- 
dres, perhaps you might spare some to monsieur ? ” 
Why, certainly, Pauline ; monsieur can smoke 
them.” 

‘‘ This is very kind of you, mademoiselle, and 
I accept the cigars with pleasure,” said M. Percival. 

“ I have not seen you so enthusiastic for a long 
time. — Papa, do you remember when you first 
made acquaintance with M. Percival, when the 
wagon broke down on the railroad? Monsieur 
was smoking a cigar, and put it down when he 
went to work. When the obstruction was cleared 
you came to monsieur here and said very proper- 
ly, ‘Well, sir, I am very much obliged to you for 
your aid, and now what can I do for you ? ’ Papa, 
you always had a grand manner about you. Mon- 
sieur’s reply I do believe staggered you ; he said, 

‘ I should very much like to. have another cigar ! ’ 
— On my word, M. Percival, I thought it an as- 
sumption of coolness, of indifference, on your part> 
which — which — ” 

Allans done, Pauline ! I do not remember 
it. What trivial things you women keep in your 
heads!” said M. Delange. — “Well, M. Percival, 


118 


A STRUGGLE. 


you shall be installed in the house ; Andre will 
see to your comforts and will bring you my cigars. 
When I am strong enough I will teach you piquet, 
or we will while away our time with la mart — 
Pauline can make a third. Anyhow, the Prussians 
are out of the house, and for that small comfort I 
am devoutly thankful.” 

That night M. Percival had a long talk with 
Andre, which concluded as follows : “ Andre, 
when I took your pistols away, on the first oppor- 
tunity I hid them carefully. Here they are : I 
have even reloaded them. Take them, and be 
upon your guard.” 

“ I do not understand monsieur ; pray why ? ” 

“ Because, Andre, the chateau is isolated now. 
Half the pillage and barbarities occur when trooj^s 
are withdrawn. We shall have a swarm of ma- 
rauders and bandits prowling around, men from 
both sides, intent on robbery. That is all.” 

“Monsieur has before this shown his good 
judgment, and monsieur’s word is law. — Ah, my 
pretty dears, come back again to your old Andre ” 
— and the man took the pistols. 

Save during the daytime, when M. Percival 
had to go to St.-Eloi for the food required by the 
people of the house, he never left the chateau. 
Strange, hideous creatures came to the doors ask- 
ing for food and shelter. French and German 
deserters — so they called themselves — mostly at 
nightfall, would infest the house. Piteous tales of 


TRUCE. 


119 


suffering were told, and demands for charity were 
made. It was M. Percival who was alms-giver 
when it was possible ; but food was no longer 
plenty at St.-Eloi. Doors and windows were 
visited by M. Percival at nightfall. It was No- 
vember, the chilly nights were coming, and the 
days were shortening. Contrary to his custom, 
some want of the household had detained M. Per- 
cival at St.-Eloi late one evening. Two dark, 
swarthy men — gypsies — strode into the house ; en- 
tered the little library-room, attracted by the light, 
where Pauline was, and demanded food and wine. 
Even Babette was absent. 

‘‘We have nothing,” said Pauline, affrighted. 
“Our last morsel of bread is eaten up. We have 
not had wine for months. Leave me.” 

“No money? Come, mademoiselle, a few 
francs. See you, we must have some money.” 

“ I have no money to give — ” 

“No money? I warrant you have plenty in 
the house. Here, put on no airs. Give us your 
ear-rings, and quickly ” — and a dirty hand was 
outstretched. The girl did not scream, but stood 
quaking with horror. Then the two men laughed 
jeeringly, next scowled in anger, and advanced in 
a threatening way. With one bound the woman 
sprang from the window to the terrace, and fled 
wild with terror on the lawn. There is always 
a providence about such things. Pauline had 
thought she heard a footstep coming that way. 


120 


A STRUGGLE. 


M. Percival had a strange habit of tapping a cer- 
tain fallen vase with his stick when he passed 
through the lawn. The contre-maitre seemed to 
comprehend the situation at once, and ran rapidly 
to the house. In vain a voice cried after him : 

“ But do not, for God’s sake, risk your life ! 
There are two of them. They cannot hurt me 
here.” 

But M. Percival paid no attention to her warn- 
ing. In an instant he was in the room, and had 
struck down one of the men, when Andre, pistol 
in hand, rushed in, and the other robber fled. The 
fallen man was badly stunned. Andre and M. 
Percival bound the bandit hand and foot, and An- 
dre was dispatched to St.-Eloi for the German 
provost-marshal. 

“You have done well,” said that ofiicer, as he 
appeared with a file of soldiers. “ He is a ruffian, 
and we have wanted to lay hold of him for some 
time. It is lucky for you he was drunk, or he 
might have made short work of you and the lady. 
Certainly we will have to shoot him.” 

When the soldiers left, Andr6 said : 

“ Monsieur was right. But had we not better 
divide our arms ? Will monsieur take one of these 
pistols ? It would be so comforting ! Who knows ? 
— we might be justified in shooting a Prussian 
some of these days.” 

“Andre, I do not want your pistol.” 

“Ah, monsieur, when I brushed your coat a 


TRUCE. 


121 


day or so ago, that was a revolver I felt in your 
breast-pocket. ’ Cre nom, but what is a stick to a 
pistol ? Though monsieur, for a one-armed man, 
must have a rude poignee, still, for close quarters, 
a pistol is much better.” 

With Mademoiselle Delange, her manner of 
greeting M. Percival was quite different. 

What a foolish thing you did, sir ! I ask 
you, could a man do anything more willfully reck- 
less ? To think of fighting two brutes ! It is ri- 
diculous, sir. It was wanting in common-sense. 
But, my God ! suppose they had killed you, what 
then ? I was safe — I had run away. 1 wish I had 
given them my paltry ear-rings, then you never 
would have risked your life so absurdly. I^ext 
time any one comes at night and asks me for my 
ear-rings, I will give them to him. Voild ! But 
you are deficient in prudence. If you had two 
arms to fight with, it would have been quite dif- 
ferent.” 

M. Percival laughed good-humoredly, but still 
the young lady scolded ; and then, when she was 
almost ready to cry, she left him apparently in 
high dudgeon. There were hardly any other in- 
cidents of this character, save that an out-house 
was broken into, and its contents carried off ; 
though often of nights men were seen prowling 
about the house, and of mornings piles of fresh 
dirt were seen, showing how the earth had been 
dug up by people who had suspected that the val- 


122 


A STRUGGLE. 


uables belonging to the chateau might be buried 
somewhere on the grounds. Then followed, about 
Christmas and New-Year’s time, a period when 
menial services on the part of the fair chdtelaine 
were called into play. Babette would have re- 
mained to the last, but her own father and mother 
were ill, suffering from want, and Babette had to 
go to them. Andre still stuck to his post. Made- 
moiselle did the cooking. M. Percival gleaned 
certain potato-fields, and was even lucky enough 
to catch a few carp and tench, which still remained 
in one of the hollows of the fish-pond. It was 
galling on the part of M. Delange to seek sub- 
sistence from the enemy, and he refused it. It 
was very fortunate that the thousand francs in 
gold had been kept as yet pretty much intact, 
though Babette had had some money forced on 
her when she left. Now the mhiaghre of the cha- 
teau de St.-Eloi had to dispense her small hoard 
of money, and it was amusing for M. Percival to 
see how rigorously she made him account for every 
sou. 

This is not, sir, to be done in any of those 
loose ways in which the usine of St.-Eloi was man- 
aged. If that German sutler at St.-Eloi sells you 
flour, see that he gives you the proper weight— 
the last parcel was a half kilo short — and look 
that the change is correct. To think what expen- 
sive things candles are ! Ah ! that can of pre- 
pared soup is an extravagance. You will ruin us. 


TRUCE. 


123 


You say it is for papa ? Then I will let it pass ; 
and it cost nothing, you add ? Pray, how ? ” 

‘‘ The surgeon in charge of the hospital — a 
friend of Mtiller’s — gave it to me.” 

‘‘You are sure it is not poison ? If I were to 
tell papa its source, he would not taste it. Poor 
papa ! He has taken to studying over some of 
I his old papers lately. How does your game of 
I cards come on ? Papa is improving, thank God. 
I wish I knew more about cooking. Still, I think 
I am not doing so badly, though I might be a per- 
fect failure for what monsieur knows or cares.” 

If these times had their amusing phases, there 
were periods of great and harrowing anxieties. 
The French francs-tireurs had been formed, and 
occasionally some very distressing cases of the 
shooting of German soldiers near St.-Eloi oc- 
curred. Then from the German headquarters the 
severest penalties were inflicted. All distribution 
of food, whether gratuitous or not, to the inhabi- 
tants in and around St.-Eloi, ceased. Now M. 
Percival came out strongest as an American, and 
insisted that he and his horse (Muller had saved 
the horse for him) should be fed. Indifferent to 
King William or his delegated authority, he brow- 
beat the officers, carried things with a high hand, 
and did draw rations for man and beast, which he 
shared with the inmates of the chateau. 

The intimacy between Mademoiselle Pauline 
and M. Percival had certain peculiarities. For 


124 


A STRUGGLE. 


the gentleman she had two manners. The cJidte- 
laine attending to the duties of the house, and 
Mademoiselle Delange in the library, were quite 
different personages. The piano had been placed 
in the library. M. Percival was decidedly a for- 
malist, and never would enter the room at first with- 
out an invitation. Gradually, however, this exact 
ceremony passed away, though he always waited 
for the young lady to say, “ If you will turn over 
the leaves of my music for me, I will play some 
Chopin,” before he entered the room. M. Delange 
kept early hours, and forcedly the two young peo- 
ple were thrown much together. They talked 
much about books, and M. Percival made free 
translations of one or tw^o volumes of such Amer- 
ican authors as he had. It happened one evening 
that M. Percival read to her a passage from Haw- 
thorne’s ‘‘ Marble Faun,” where the author expa- 
tiates on woman and her needle. 

“ It is very fine,” said the young lady. “ Let 
us be practical. I will learn to knit. You must 
buy me some yarn to-morrow at St.-Eloi, and some 
needles. Winter is coming on. Our money is 
going so fast, so fast for food, and papa’s stock- 
ings are wearing out ! Pray close the book. I 
will play something.” 

Then grand manners were assumed. 

“ Though you do not play, somehow or other 
you have a fair appreciation of music — for an 
American,” said mademoiselle. ‘‘ Do you know, I 


TRUCE. 


125 


' despise musical men, unless professional ? I hate 
i the Gei-mans because they all play so well, and 
kill so well. Fiddlers and pianists, and compound- 
ers of double-bass and makers of fugues, analysts 
of chromatic scales, with swords, guns, and pis- 
tols, in their hands ! Music is an over-refinement 
for a man, which by no means tends to make him 
more gentle or sympathetic in regard to the suffer- 
ings of his fellow human beings.” 

“ I am afraid, mademoiselle, your logic is not 
sound. Between the appreciation of music and 
i the actual making of musical sounds you draw a 
distinction which I fail to discover.” 

- Still the lady harped on the theme, and, be- 
j tween the stanzas of her nocturne, injected sar- 
castic comments on men who played or sung, 
ridiculing them with a peculiar degree of bitter- 
ness. 

‘‘ Their sentiment,” she said, “ is exhausted 
when it leaves their larynx or is trilled out at the 
ends of their fingers — ” 

“ Stop one instant, mademoiselle,” interposed 
M. Percival, quite gravely. 

But Mademoiselle Delange continued playing, 
just sweeping the chords and modulating pianis- 
simo, 

“ When I was in the hospital — ” 

Please — please do not continue ! See, I have 
stopped, and will close the piano ! ” cried Pauline, 
nervously. 


126 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ But I ought to continue. Does not Made- 
moiselle Delange sometimes express herself rather 
positively in regard to matters, sentiments, feel- 
ings, she may have had hut very little experience 
about ? ” 

“ Monsieur ! ” she cried, apparently in anger. 
Then she softened all of a sudden, and she felt 
for the first time that his chiding was a distress to 
her. I heg your pardon ; but I cannot under- 
stand how I could have been personal.” 

“ Certainly it was unintentional. My miserable 
arm has to do with it. The greatest grief I felt 
when I was conscious that I had lost it was not 
for my country, for brains are better than arms, 
hut because a very dear friend I had once, one I 
loved very tenderly, was a pianist like yourself. 
Perhaps not quite so savante as you are, made- 
moiselle ; hut still she used to like me to play the 
piano with her. That is all. It was an agony for 
me to think that so much quiet happiness should ' 
have gone with my arm.” • 

“May I play now?” asked Pauline, as she 
struck a few quiet chords, and said, in a low voice 
scarcely above her breath, “ M. Percival, it was , 
the lady you were going to marry, who is dead ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied M. Percival, sadly. “ How did 
you know about this most unfortunate event of 
my life ? ” 

“ It was Lieutenant Muller who told me. I 
asked him.” 


TRUCE. 


127 


Then Pauline ceased playing, closed the piano 
: noiselessly, bade him good-night, and left the 
room. 

There had been flurries of snow, and now the 
winter, which had dallied for a while, fairly set in, 
and with it came great misery. The poor peas- 
i ant-folks, the villagers, had come back from their 
hiding-places. Most of them found their houses 
pillaged or destroyed, and shelter and food were 
wanting. Starving men, women, and children, 
without clothing, shivered in the storms. Pneu- 
monia and typhus raged. The strongest men died 
from exposure and want of food. Gaunt Famine 
stalked through the land. There was scarcely a 
spade left even to dig a shallow grave in which 
the dead could be thrown. There was a brave 
old priest who still held his post. Percival found 
him, brought him to the chateau, and, with Pau- 
line, measures of relief were proposed. But mis- 
i ery and privation had told on the good old cure, 
j and he sickened and died in Percival’s arms. It 
I was now the contre-maitre who took his place, 
and visited the suffering. PercivaPs former posi- 
tion in the usine had made him well known, and 
his influence was soon felt. 

M. Delange’s condition was still such as to re- 
quire the greatest care. The old chateau was dis- 
mally cold, and such few rooms as were occupied 
had to be warmed. Then M. Percival set to work 
with a will. He organized a wood-trade. The 


128 


A STKUGGLE.. 


horse played an important part. As everything 
on wheels had been moved off, M. Percival ob- 
tained permission of the Germans to use an old i 
tumbril the French had abandoned. With his i 
own single hand he made something of a cart — ^he ' 
even manufactured a sledge. He hired one of his ; 
former workmen as a wood-cutter, and the chateau ; 
was not only supplied with fuel, but the Germans 
were glad enough to buy his fagots. His wood 
he exchanged for food, and what the chateau 
could not use he distributed among the suffering 
neighbors. He woke the poor peasant-folks out 
of their lethargy, and helped them to set their 
houses to right, and forced them to care for their ' 
children. He battled with the pestilence. A shop 
or so formerly kept by some of the smaller trades- 
people in St.-Eloi after a while was reopened. 
Where the goods came from no one knew. He 
rated the people for their selfishness, and made 
them help one another. He even interested the 
German surgeons at the hospital in regard to the 
misfortunes of the peasants, and made them dis- 
pense food and medicine. As St.-Eloi was among ' 
the first places that had been captured, it was the 
first to revive. Of course, such attempts were 
very puny and inconsiderable ; but, still, that 
wretched period of utter despondency and conse- 
quent stagnation had passed away. Mademoiselle 
Delange’s money, which she proffered M. Percival, 
he used sparingly but judiciously. M. PercivaPs i 


TRUCE. 


129 


horse, ^^lahtte du hon Monsieur Am^ricam,'* was 
at any one’s disposal. Of course, the poor peas- 
ants could not do much ; but still there was wood 
to cut and sell for fuel, or to make up and fashion 
into such primitive articles of household furniture 
as had been 'destroyed. 

‘‘ It is Ali Baba and the hundred thieves over 
again,” said Mademoiselle Pauline to M. Percival, 
one evening as they sat in the library. Cutting 
fagots made Ali Baba’s fortune. Indeed, monsieur, 
you have the ‘open sesame.’ We all of us should 
have starved but for this capital idea of yours. 
But—” 

“ So they do not discover where our real treas- 
ure lies, I shall be very glad.” 

“ I do not understand you ? ” 

“ I mean the papers and your casket. See, the 
snow remains undisturbed on top of the ground 
yet ! ” 

“ I had entirely forgotten all about them. But 
my thousand francs are gone, quite gone. I am 
afraid I was too lavish with them : still, I think 
some of the money was of great benefit to our 
poor peasants.” 

“Mademoiselle, better times are, I trust, in 
store for you.” 

“You have been a very sad prophet so far ; 
what is the good news, pray ? ” 

“ Paris is besieged.” 

“ Is that good news ? ” 

9 


130 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ I met an American yesterday, one of those 
men who, hlas'e as to natural amusements, seek 
only those of a most exciting character — elegant 
vultures in search of recreation, who gorge them- 
selves on battle-fields. He informed me that Paris 
was invested ; and as it is certain that Paris must 
fall, that ends the war.” 

‘‘Is that your good news? It is dreadful 
enough. But still you do not look pleased : there 
is something more.” 

“I have news which is quite distressing — 
though it may be a matter utterly indifferent to 
you. A German surgeon told me that Lieutenant 
Mtiller was either dead or desperately wounded at 
the bridge of Sevres a week ago.” 

“ Lieutenant Muller ! He was very kind to us ; 
and for the first time I sincerely regret hearing 
that there is one German less.” 

“ It is very sad. He was going to be married.” 

“Poor man ! Yes, the name of his intended 
was Bertha. Should ever this war cease, you must 
go and see this distressed woman, because — ” 

“Because?” 

“ Because what you told me about Lieutenant 
Muller in America interested me.” 

“ It would be highly creditable if mademoiselle 
did not forget Lieutenant Muller’s very pleasant 
conduct when he was master of our lives and for- 
tunes.” 

“ Fortunes ! That brings me precisely to the 


TRUCE. 


131 


point. Of all the ready money now in and about 
the chateau, behold the sum total ! ” and the lady 
opened her purse and showed a single gold-piece. 
‘‘ What ! is that all the sympathy you have for my 
condition ? You smile ! You have a provoking 
way, monsieur, of being hilarious at precisely the 
wrong time, which is especially trying.” 

‘‘ I have just concluded a contract, mademoi- 
selle, with the German hospital to furnish it with 
wood for the next month, and St.-Eloi will be rich 
again. So pray do not worry. M. Delange, I trust, 
wants for nothing. If the worst comes, as to pur- 
chasing food, or such little luxuries as he may re- 
quire, as soon as communication is opened with the 
world outside of France, I have friends in Belgium 
who would help me.” 

“ Monsieur, I cannot use your money. I half 
suspect now, from what my father has told me, 
that the thousand francs you gave me were not 
ours, but yours. You look confused ! You have 
deceived me. No — no ; forgive me. I did not 
mean that. You have acted, as always, very kind- 
ly, most considerately ; hut cannot you understand 
that it is humiliating for me to know that, even in 
these wretched times, I have been dependent — so 
entirely dependent — on you ? ” 

‘‘ This is nothing else than absurd, mademoi- 
selle. Do I not hold, as collateral security, prop- 
erty of yours, of your father’s, worth ten thousand 
times more than those few paltry francs? The 


132 


A STRUGGLE. 


moment I should feel the least doubt as to M. De- 
lange’s solvency, all I have to do is to dig up your 
casket and make away with it ! ” 

“ Then the thousand francs were yours ? You 
loaned them to me, pretending they belonged to 
papa ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle, I told you once, in the position 
we were in, that it would not have been honorable 
to allow a single workman to leave without his 
pay. I had some little of my salary put aside. 
But mademoiselle forgets I have been living on 
her bounty for the last three months.” 

“ My bounty ! What impossible ideas you 
have ! Do you mean to say now, at this present 
moment, that you are not in my father’s employ ? ” 

“ Certainly not, mademoiselle. My functions 
ceased when the works stopped. I have been your 
guest — an unbidden one, perhaps.” 

‘Wou are the most cruel human being poor 
Pauline Delange ever met. Colonel Percival, you 
will drive me crazy with your logic. But my 
father has friends in Belgium, in Holland, in Rus- 
sia. I shall speak to my father to-morrow, and 
your money must be returned to you at once.” 

‘‘Very well, then, mademoiselle, as you please. 
In the mean time give me your twenty francs, and 
then you will owe me exactly nine hundred and 
eighty francs — with interest, of course.” 

Then the lady absolutely did take out the gold- 
piece and dropped it on the table until it rang 


TRUCE. 


133 


again. Then she looked at M. Percival with a 
long, searching expression he had never noticed 
before. There was evidently a struggle going on 
within her, between her pride and certain worldly 
conventionalities.' Had M. Percival smiled just 
then, had a muscle of his face relaxed, she would 
have throwm the money on the floor. But the 
man’s face was rather grim and proud. Then her 
first-finger came slowly down on the coin, and she 
said : 

“ I will keep it, if you will still lend it to us. 
Excuse this silly effusion of temper on my part, 
which was very much out of place. Still, can’t 
you see, no matter how delicately it is done, that 
a woman, who has the least bit of pride, can’t bear 
to be indebted ? ” 

Now mademoiselle’s good-humor returned, and 
she said : 

“ I do not think we French can ever appreciate 
Hawthorne ; there is not action enough for us. 
Still, that was very good — that portion you read 
me about the heroine Hilda, and how needlework 
became a woman. If monsieur will allow me, it 
is a very miserable attempt I have made ; here is 
a mitten, a single one I have made for you. When 
you were on the sledge the other day, I thought 
your hand looked blue with the cold. Will you 
take it ? It is of very coarse material. Now, M. 
Percival, we ought to understand one another per- 
fectly by this time — so, pray, no thanks for it. I 


134 


A STRUGGLE. 


have made it too large ! It does not fit ! It is 
big enough for two hands ! There ! I will play 
something for you.” 

It was the first time she had ever deigned to 
say that she would play for him. M. Delange 
came down to the room for a half-hour, as was his 
wont, played a game of piquet with M. Percival, 
then, as the clock struck nine, he retired, assisted 
by Andre. It was a stormy and blustering night 
outside, and the wind howled and moaned. Not- 
withstanding all this, two people in an almost de- 
serted chateau, cut off from friends, in the midst 
of the enemy, seemed to take matters in quite a 
cheerful and resigned way. 


PART IV. 

PEACE. 

Befoee actual peace was signed, the condition 
of affairs in the chateau had very much improved. 
Several of the old servants returned, some of the 
former methods of living were renewed, and one 
or two more rooms were opened. Provided now 
with sufiicient means, M. Delange was not chary 
in his charities, and the good work commenced by 
M. Percival was carried on. A few of the landed 
proprietors came back and set their houses in 
order, and altogether things had a more cheerful 


PEACE. 


135 


look. It is true tlie victors were still very curt 
and disagreeable, and conciliatory measures were 
not manifested. The French people, however, 
took matters as they came, and, only intent on se- 
curing the means of existence, were indifferent as 
to the ways of their masters. 

‘‘Afraid of these Kaiserliche, mademoiselle? 
Who — I ? ” said Babette. “ What now ? I who 
marched down right boldly in the midst of them, 
when they captured the chateau, with a basket of 
wine in my hand ; and, when one big fellow made 
a grab at a bottle, didn’t I let him have the full 
weight of my hand over his ugly, bearded face ? 
Only, mademoiselle, when I did that, in an instant 
all the other eleven bottles were gone — and they 
all laughed so ! They were good devils, after all, 
though they did chase poor Jean Baptiste into 
Belgium ! Congratulate me, mademoiselle — the 
poor fellow is not dead. Now, mademoiselle, since 
the house is getting to rights, all I shall have to 
do is to take care of you. To think of those nice, 
white hands, that were all roughened and soiled 
with cookery ! Ah ! ah ! mademoiselle, I should 
have liked to see you do it ! Was M. Percival 
satisfied with the little cook ? But, it strikes me, 
I don’t see M. Percival much. I know he is wan- 
dering over the country, and seeing the poor peo- 
ple. Bless you, mademoiselle, he was at our poor 
little house once, and talked to father and mother ; 
and I just threw my arms around his neck, as if 


136 


A STRUGGLE. 


he was an old acquaintance, for he put some heart 
into my old father. What is this I hear ? Andre 
says M. Percival moved to the porter’s lodge some 
weeks ago, and that he has instructions from M. 
Percival to pack up all his things, because he is 
going to live in St.-Eloi, or amid the ruins of the 
old factory — eh, mademoiselle ? ” 

‘‘ Babette, M. Percival is a very curious per- 
son, and is, indeed, quite incomprehensible at 
times. I assure you whatever he does is quite in- 
different to me,” replied her mistress. Perhaps 
he has business at St.-Eloi. He does, however, 
condescend to come and see us occasionally, for a 
half-hour at a time ; then papa engrosses him en- 
tirely.” 

With returning comforts M. Delange’s health 
rapidly improved, and somewhat of his former 
energy returned. 

“ I miss my game of cards with M. Percival,” 
he said to his daughter. “ Is there anything we 
can have said or done, Pauline, which has some- 
what changed his former habits ? Here for the 
last two days I have not seen him. I shall write 
to him to-day. I must have a long business-talk 
with him. Pauline, pray write to him ; my hand 
is shaky now.” 

“Who? — I, dear papa? I would rather not. 
If monsieur chooses to absent himself — well, let 
him.” 

“ But it is a matter of pure business, Pauline. 


PEACE. 


137 


He has told me the vouchers and your little casket 
are hidden somewhere in the lawn, and I must ask 
him to return them to us. I want to consult with 
him in regard to those papers. He advised me to 
send them out of the country, and intimated that, 
as he had an idea of leaving St.-Eloi, he would 
take them to Belgium, where I have some most 
reliable friends.” 

‘‘ M. Percival leave us ! It is well, papa. I 
will write.” And write she did — a short and for- 
mal note. 

M. Delange and M. Percival were closeted the 
next day almost all the morning. The vouchers 
and the casket were delivered to M. Delange. 
This is about what M. Delange said : M. Perci- 
val, you have served me well ; I have studied 
these accounts. Besides five months’ salary un- 
paid you, you have advanced to me, the old mas- 
ter of these forges, some four thousand francs. 
One thousand you gave my daughter, the rest you 
paid to the workmen. You did well. It was a 
timely loan. That four thousand francs was the 
best investment you ever made. It showed devo- 
tion to my family and to my business. During 
these trying times you have kept watch and ward 
over my house. St.-Eloi will never more make a 
pound of iron — or turn out a machine — at least 
while I, Paul Auguste Delange, am alive and its 
master. I have an offer to sell St.-Eloi, the cha- 
teau and grounds, to some Belgian capitalists. I 


138 


A STRUGGLE. 


will live here no longer. I know the Germans in- 
tend to incorporate Alsace with their own empire. 
We will move to France. I have a splendid prop- 
erty near St. -Etienne. We will go there. Think 
of it, there are iron and coal there ! We will work 
the crude materials. The sale of St.-Eloiwill fur- 
nish the means. I suppose it will require an out- 
lay of some millions. I owe you four thousand 
francs. I will give you one-eighth interest in the 
new establishment — with a salary, of course. If 
that is not enough, state your terms. This is pure 
business, and has nothing to do with sentiment. 
I never had sentiment in business. What ! you 
shake your head ? Do you mean to say I have 
not all my wits about me ? I never was sounder 
in mind, nor more sharp for a bargain, than just 
now. The physical strength has gone somewhat, 
but my head is in good working order. Unless I 
am greatly mistaken, the new works will be a 
paying investment. The funds are simply with- 
drawn from St.-Eloi to St.-Etienne. St.-Eloi was 
not a bad saint for twenty-five years, and I have 
no reason to suppose that St.-Etienne should with- 
hold his favors from us. Here is a letter from 
Brussels : read it. The same parties offered to 
purchase the property before the war. They have 
taken advantage of the situation, and offer a great 
deal less money for the two places, but I shall 
take their bid. This is a long talk. How, mon- 
sieur, you who knew me before all these troubles. 


PEACE. 


139 


do you find any difference in my way of doing 
business ? You do not ? Well, I want you to go 
to Belgium at once, with all these vouchers, and 
deposit them in a banking-house there. I thank 
you for having taken such good care of them. 
Every bit of paper is as fresh and crisp as when 
it was signed — though they have been buried so 
long. They do represent a great deal of money. 
Go to Brussels, and do not stay longer away than 
you can help.” 

“ I will go to Brussels with pleasure — but — 
what you offer is so magnificent that I must take 
time to consider over it.” 

“ Consider ! what is there to consider about it ? 
There, I am tired now. Take this casket. I sup- 
pose it contains my daughter’s trinkets, and those 
of my poor wife. Pauline has a migraine^ or 
something: take the casket, though, to her. There, 
that will do.” 

M. Percival took the steel box and sought the 
library-room. It was deserted. He sat in a chaii”, 
and was dazed at the brilliant offer made him. 
Ho one came into the room. He rang the bell 
hanging over the mantel-piece ; there was no an- 
swer. Presently, however, Babette tripped in. 

“ Can I see Mademoiselle Helange, Babette ? ” 
he asked. 

Mademoiselle is indeed quite unwell. I think 
all this excitement she has gone through is telling 
on her now. She has grown paler of late. As 


140 


A' STRUGGLE. 


one of the family, monsieur, if you insist on see- 
ing mademoiselle, I will tell her your wishes ; but 
she really is souffrante. She did not close her, 
eyes last night.” ‘ ^ 

‘‘ I am exceedingly sorry to hear of your mis- 
tress’s indisposition. What I want is this : pray; 
carry this casket to mademoiselle — that is all.” 

Eh, Bleu! The coffer that belonged to 
mademoiselle ? Joy, joy ! It is not lost ? She I 
shall see you. It will cure her headache. I will 
go to her.” 

“ No, Babette. If mademoiselle is better to- ■ 
morrow, I would like to pay my respects to her.” 

“But, monsieur, you have a way of saying 
‘ no ’ which is indeed very disagreeable. Come, 
M. Percival ” — here Babette twiddled her fingers 
and played with her apron-strings — “ for a femme ' 
de chamhre who has seen pretty hard times in the 
Delange family, and has stood up for them against 
a thousand Prussians — as monsieur has — of course, ' 
if I don’t presume to know any of our secrets, I 
at least know my place. Well, then, tZam— what i 
makes you, monsieur, bonder Mademoiselle De- 
lange? It is well, sir, we know our position. I ;; 
shall carry this casket to my mistress, and with it \ 
your message. Good-day to you, sir” — and Ba- 
bette left him. 

That evening M. Percival sent a short note to | 
M. Delange, announcing his intended departure | 
for Brussels, consenting to take charge of the | 


PEACE. 


141 


papers, and to arrange the sale of the chateau and 
usine of St.-Eloi. 

He came at mid-day, and was closeted with M. 
Helange once more. When he left the master of 
the house, M. Percival was still undecided as to 
his future. He sought the library. The room 
had been stripped of the furniture which had 
been placed there, the piano was gone, and it 
looked bare and cold. Mademoiselle was there, 
and she rose to receive him. It was true she 
looked a trifle wan and pale, though a smile was 
apparent on her face. 

“ See,” she said, dropping all formalities, as 
she held up her arm, “ I have a bracelet on. Many 
thanks for the coffer. Everything was as bright 
and clean as if it had just left the jewelers. I am 
in high glee this morning — in the best of spirits. 
I feel like an Indian woman who finds a store of 
heads and glittering gewgaws. After gloating 
over my treasures, and handling them as a miser 
would his hoard, I think I deserve praise for hav- 
ing satisfied myself with only this modest little 
bracelet. It was one my mother wore. I ought 
to have loaded my fingers down with rings, been 
all ablaze with diamonds, rubies, . and emeralds, 
in order to welcome you, I suppose.” This last 
little bit of speech carried an acrimonious flavor 
with it. 

“You have shown very good judgment, made- 
moiselle. I trust when the proper occasion oc- 


142 


A STRUGGLE. 


curs, the jewels will sparkle. I have come to 
make you my adieux. I shall be going to Bel- 
gium to-day or to-morrow.” 

‘‘ Oh, it is about selling St.-Eloi ? Part of my 
dower lies here ; therefore I am interested — very 
much interested indeed.” But her expression be- 
lied her words. “ Oh, I know all about it. Papa 
consulted with me in regard to the sale — 

‘‘You are aware of the offer M. Delange made 
me? ” 

“Partly ; what it is exactly I do not know nor 
care, so that it be a fairly liberal one, sufficient 
for a contre-maUre to live on with prudence and 
economy.” 

“ The offer your father has made me is prince- 
ly in its character.” 

“ But we owe you money, and you no longer 
hold the collateral, as you once took such pains to 
tell me. You had to run no end of risks, I sup- 
pose. Above all, I am une femme d’affaire,^'^ 

“ But, mademoiselle, I have changed purposes 
so often that what I am now exactly I cannot un- 
derstand. My intention was to remain with M. 
Delange until the end of this year. Then — ” 

“ Then — ” said the lady. 

“ Mademoiselle — for a naturally imperturbable 
man, I must confess to be terribly confused, for I 
know not what to do. If I have presumed to 
force my advice on you at times, would you give 
me now the benefit of your counsel ? ” 


PEACE. 


143 


Your ideas of business, my father insists, are 
superlatively good,” said Pauline, quite calmly. 
Here she paused, and added : “ Though, on my 
word, beyond that, you have the simplicity of a 
child ; ” and she pulled at her bracelet and snapped 
it viciously. “ I cannot bid you accept my father’s 
offer ; you would not ask me to do it. Go to 
America. No, better than that, go to Egypt ! I 
learn, too, that that was another of your strange 
ideas ! Be a mercenary general of negro troops 
in the heart of Africa ” — then the lady got volu- 
ble — “and, before the khedive cuts your head off 
some fine day, send me a string of pearls, or a 
golden anklet, to remember you by when I put 
on all my trinkets on one of those proper occa- 
sions when jewels sparkle — I use your words — I 
may find your gift becoming. Do all kinds of 
stupid things. Colonel Percival, save settling down 
in exactly the profession you know most about, 
and that is as an iron-master. As for myself, I 
am sick of provincial life ; I shall go to Paris. 
After all, these new works to be started at St.- 
Etienne are chimerical. Papa is too old to at- 
tempt such a thing. The service you have done 
us cannot, of course, be paid in money.” 

“ Money, mademoiselle ? ” 

“Monsieur, I am tired of always hearing about 
your departures. Leave us, and go away in peace. 
Why did you not take your departure when the 
war broke out ? That was the best time.” It was 


144 


A STRUGGLE. 


a rattling burst of temper, yet querulous at times. 
The bracelet fell with a clatter on the ground. 
The gentleman stooped to pick it up. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle — ^Pauline,” he said, as he rose 
to his feet, ‘‘ my own darling Pauline, do you not 
know that I love you very dearly ? ” 

^^Yraimentf'^'^ said a trembling voice, as two 
very dark and lustrous eyes were raised to his. 
“ J^en doutais, monsieur 

“ Dear Pauline, may I clasp this bracelet on 
your arm ? ” and he took her hand in his. 

“ Is that all, sir, you have of mine ? I searched 
through the coffer for a certain ring my poor god- 
father gave me. What has become of it ? ” 

“ It is here, I have it safe. I tied it around 
my neck ; may I wear it ? May I kiss you; to be 
very, very sure that I have your permission to 
keep it ? Dear Pauline, I fell in love with you 
the night you came to me in the billiard-room.” 

“ Did you ? I never would have thought it, 
M. Percival.” 

“ Will you call me Hugh ? ” 

“H-o-o. I never shall be able to encompasu 
H-u-g-h. I will try, M. Percival. No, H-o-o. I 
cannot tell you when I first cared for you — maybe 
it was but a moment ago. It is better that you 
should think so. The fact is, mon ami, I often 
wanted to measure wills with you, but you are 
stronger than I am ; then I got afraid of you. 
Somehow, if it had not been for certain peculiari- 


PEACE. 


145 


ties of your own — certain master-like airs — I 
should very possibly have hated you, because, I 
suppose, I felt I was so much indebted to you. 
ll^fow, I don’t feel it at all. But, monsieur, how 
we have broken all the convenances / Don’t think, 
though, that papa does not know who you are and 
all about you. Some friends of yours in the 
United States have been dreadfully anxious about 
you — a Mist are Terhune, of New York. Papa 
asked, ‘Who is Colonel Percival? can it be our 
contre-mattre f ’ And so papa came naturally to 
me, supposing I knew more about you than any 
one else, which I did. Said papa, ‘Pauline, it 
seems to me you are very thoroughly acquainted 
with all this gentleman’s antecedents.’ To which 
I replied, ‘ Dear papa, I even know his birthday.’ 
There, do not let me talk about you any more.” 

“But, Pauline, my darling, you will be im- 
mensely rich, and I have nothing, absolutely noth- 
ing, in the world.” 

“ Nonsense ! Just as if that made any differ- 
ence ! Now, if this little romance of ours were 
entirely French, you would go straight to Africa, 
and, under the khedive, make your fortune in a 
six-month. Hugh, as long as I love you and you 
care for me, we will never speak of money. We 
owe you four thousand francs, and I never shall 
pay you, for you must take me, with my own and 
my father’s debts. Grand Dieu / how I am talk- 
ing ! I have no idea, though, I assure you, M. 

10 


146 


A STRUGGLE. 


Percival, of stripping myself of my fortune. H 
faut me prendre eomme mis. In this respect 
you see I differ from the hysterical heroine. There, 
that will do. It seems to me that for a French- 
woman, brought up with due respect for those 
convenances I talked about, I am particularly in- 
different to them.” 

“ I may, then, Pauline, put this ring on my fin- 
ger ? ” 

‘‘ Why not ? Who would have thought how 
happy the giving of this ring would make me ? I 
have nothing of yours, dear Hugh, save this napo- 
leon, the last one I had. I never spent it. You 
must not kiss me again — at least to-day, sir ; yet 
I feel so very sure and certain of your love. After 
all, we have passed many a happy day together, 
though some of them were painful to me. Why 
did you throw my hand away from you one terri- 
ble night ? Was it because your hand was soiled 
in digging that hole you hid the papers in? I 
tried to hate you then. I knew I despised myself, 
but still I could not help loving you, though, be- 
cause, I suppose, we were thrown so much together. 
Tliere, not another word. Go to Belgium, and 
come back again as fast as you can. I have some 
news for you. Monsieur de Valbois and madame 
are coming here. After Paris was taken, Madame 
de Valbois went to Turin to join Raoul. They 
will both be here to-morrow.” 

‘‘ But, dear Pauline, under the present circum- 


PEACE. 


147 


stances at least, such as exist between us, for which 
the heavens he praised ! would not my departure 
now for Belgium look like a flight? My pride 
would not allow me to leave now.” 

“ Your flight ? nonsense ! M. Raoul shall 
know all about it in ten minutes from me. I could 
not keep my secret even if I wanted to. Dear 
Hugh ! It was not my fault if they did want me 
to marry him. You never heard him sing? He 
has a tenor of the purest timbre, and such an ex- 
pression ! ” 

^‘Pauline — Pauline, was that why you hated 
singing men ? ” 

“ Certainly. You have found it out, have you, 
most perspicacious Hugh? Now, I ought to be 
timid and constrained under the present circum- 
stances, but, for the life of me, I am not. This 
love for you on my part has been so long and 
steadfast, that now I know you care for me, and 
are to be my husband, I feel as if I wanted to go 
into the lawn and bawl it out. It is unmaidenly, 
but natural. Pray, in time, curb a certain amount 
of impetuosity which I have, M. Percival, or it 
will be the worse for you.” 

Now, M. Delange came into the library, and 
M. Percival made a formal demand for the hand 
of Mademoiselle Pauline. The father smiled and 
said : 

‘‘I fancied, my dear Percival, that it would 
happen — though this very demure young person, 


148 


A STRUGGLE. 


who is now almost smothering, jne with her kisses, 
fancied that her father was quite ignorant -as to 
where her heart was placed. I told you, M. Per- 
cival, that there was no sentiment about me ; of 
course, with this very good girl of mine there 
might be an exception. The work at St. -Etienne 
is, however, now a sine qua non . — Eh ! you fool- 
ish girl ? — Monsieur,” added M. Delange, going to 
the window, “there are some of those infernal 
German officers walking across my grounds. To- 
morrow see that all the inclosures are put in order. 
These fellows shall not trespass on my property 
without my permission. The Vandals ! ” 

Next day M. Percival left for Belgium. M. 
and Madame de Valbois came to St.-Eloi. Ma- 
dame was dreadfully expansive and gushing over 
the troubles and anxieties her dear Pauline had 
passed through. 

“ But,” she added, when she had not been in 
the house ten minutes, “ was it not rather a mis- 
fortune, not that such a thing could have been 
prevented, only one of those accidents of the 
times, that her dear old friend’s contre-maitre 
should have been thrust on them during the whole 
period of their troubles ? What a dreadful thing 
for her angel of a Pauline, who had shown so 
much courage when her poor papa was so ill, to 
have been forced to live for months with a contre- 
maitre! The Prussians were bad enough. She 
would certainly advise M. Delange (as a sincere 


PEACE. 


149 


friend of the family) to dismiss this M. Percival 
at once — of course, politely ; and she had no 
doubt that her Pauline chk^rie, with her own good 
sense, would see the necessity for it. People 
would talk ! ” 

“My dear madame,” said Pauline, in a very 
quiet way, “ you ought not to have left me alone, 
though what good you might have done in St.- 
Eloi I cannot imagine. M. Percival saved the 
house from pillage, stood up in defense of my life, 
nursed papa, managed our business, loaned us 
money, kept us from starving, took care of our 
poor peasants, faced an epidemic, and is now in 
Belgium.” 

“ In Belgium ? Well, I really am glad he was 
souseful. And he did it all with one hand ? We 
must try and get him a good place in Belgium.” 

“ I do not mind telling you — confidentially, of 
course — that, immediately on M. PercivaPs return, 
if he does not propose to me, I shall offer him my 
hand ; such an insignificant thing as my heart he 
has ah-eady.” 

Juste del! Pauline, are you mad ? What ! 
this single-handed man, all grimy from the forge ? 
Why, when we saw him last, the man’s face was 
quite smudgy with coal-dust and perspiration ! Ce 
n^est pas possible / ” 

“ But it is. I am prepared to wipe his fore- 
head off at any time with the finest of my em- 
broidered handkerchiefs. Would you kindly con- 


150 


A STRUGGLE. 


vey to M. Raoul what I have told you ? I do like 
your son, madame, and de^’e to he on the most 
pleasant terms with him — with you. I always 
had a kindly feeling for M. de Valbois, hut did 
not love him enough to marry him. You have no 
idea, my dear Madame de Valhois, how familiari- 
ty with war and contre-mattres has changed me ! ” 

“ War, Pauline ! Have I not suffered all the 
privations a poor woman could ? Pauline, I have 
eaten dogs ! ” 

“ Was it M. Raoul’s Persian hound ? Indeed, 
then, you are worthy of the utmost consideration. 
M. Percival was a far better caterer. He never 
gave us even cats, though, on my word, I think 
now he starved himself so that my father, or I, or 
the poor peasants, might have something to eat.” 

“ But, Pauline, your father — it is not possible 
that you have his consent ? Does he know it, un- 
fortunate girl ? Can he allow such a mesalli- 
ance f ” 

‘‘ Mesalliance f If money has anything to do 
with it, we got sadly in the contre-maitre^s debt — 
so deeply that, on my honor, I for one can never 
pay it back.” 

“ Pauline, you have lost your senses ! ” cried 
Madame de Valbois. 

“Hot at all — only my heart,” replied Made- 
moiselle Delange ; and so the conversation was 
brought to a close. 

M. de Valbois, informed by his mother of the 


PEACE. 


151 


situation, was too sensible to assume the position 
of an injured man. He even congratulated Pau- 
line on her choice. 

“ You see, Pauline — you will let me call you 
so Still — we heard of M. Percival, and all he had 
done for the poor people, just as soon as we en- 
tered this unfortunate country. Monsieur has 
very good administrative faculties. I think I Was 
among the first to discover his merits. His being 
a trifle stiff and hautain with me — at least in his 
position — first struck me. A contre-maitre who 
was so well versed in general literature, and who 
was so familiar with the politics of the world, I 
supposed was something beyond a common work- 
man. How, I never forget faces ; so, once when 
I asked him if I had not met him in Washington 
at the house of one of the American ministers, 
his reply was so evasive that my suspicions were 
aroused as to whether he might not be a suitor in 
disguise. As it is, Pauline, though I must have 
personal regrets, I feel quite sure that you will 
have a happy future ; so I shall be the first to wel- 
come M. Percival on his return.” 

“ Raoul, we have been comrades from our child- 
hood, and I do want to retain your friendship just 
as long as I live, and I am so much obliged to you.” 

“ I am afraid, Pauline, que les absents ont tortP 
If you think, Raoul, that M. Hugh Percival 
took the least advantage of his position or of your 
absence, you are mistaken. He was too loyal for 


152 


A STRUGGLE. 


that. But we will not say another word about the 
man I really love unless I should happen to talk 
to you about him, which I shall be sure to do. 
Now, as a token of reconciliation, I have some- 
thing to propose to you. To-day papa has had 
brought round to the stables a little wagonette 
and a pair of ponies, which he has purchased from 
some adventurous English people. This little 
equipage is, indeed, something like a return to our 
old habits. As M. Percival has forbidden my rid- 
ing on horseback without him, though I have no 
saddle-horses as yet, you shall drive me out. M. 
Percival has left me quite a list of poor people I 
must call on and assist. Will you be my escort ? ” 
And so quite pleasantly peace was made. 

That night Pauline wrote to Madame de Mont- 
friand in Paris : 


“St.-Eloi, March — , ISVl. 

“ Dear Clemence : Papa, who is much, much 
better — indeed, almost quite well — tells me that 
the mail-difficulties are arranged, and that this 
may reach you some time. I am so glad to be 
able to write to you once more ! Dear Clemence, 
your very worst apprehensions and my great hap- 
piness have come to pass. I am to be married to 
our contre-maitrey Mistare Hugh Percival. I love 
him dearly, of course, and think I must have had 
some idea that I liked him when I wrote you last 
— ^months ago. Our contre-maitre, though he has 


PEACE. 


153 


but one arm, is as brave as Julius Caesar, and has 
known how to subjugate me, who was much more 
wayward than you imagine. I could not for the 
life of me tell you how it all happened, only it 
seems he did care for me long before I even sus- 
pected it. M. Percival has been absent ten days, 
and I have been wretchedly unhappy for the last 
week without him. Do not suppose that there was 
any romance about our courtship, or that affection 
sprang from intimacy ; it was all very common- 
place, I assure you. I cooked his dinner for him, 
and have been more than once dreadfully out of 
temper with him. I think even he is a very pro- 
voking kind of a man. In analyzing my feelings 
I found out that, when he was overworked and 
anxious for us all, and would not eat his dinner 
from want of appetite, I used to get very cross 
with him. Did you ever feel that way toward M. 
de Montfriand ? I mean before you married him. 
But what an idiot I am ! Clemence never had the 
happiness of cooking for the man she loved. That 
engenders the loftiest sentiments. But badinage 
aside. Monsieur is a gentleman, well bred, and 
dreadfully punctilious as to his honor, and has 
many accomplishments. Dear me ! the puzzling 
questions he used to ask me, and the cool way in 
which he made the statement that, outside of Eng- 
land and America, young ladies generally had no 
good, solid foundation on which the graceful su- 
perstructures of a higher education could be built. 


154 


A STRUGGLE. 


What strange old books, even in French, he asked 
me about, which I had never read. I shall have 
to study for him some day. Would you believe 
it, we spent many an evening together ? — I at my 
piano, playing for him — for, though those brutal 
Germans pounded my poor Erard almost to death, 
they did not quite destroy it. Would you believe 
it, the night before M. Hugh left for Brussels, he 
brought me an English song, and begged me to 
play the accompaniment for him ; and he sang for 
me some quaint old English ballad, so ■ sweetly, so 
pathetically, that I cried like a baby, and he never 
had let me know before that he could sing ? I used 
to hate singing men, and so I once told him. See, 
C16mence, I am just madly in love with the man, 
and glory in it ! There, now, is that explicit 
enough ? Pray, do not bear me a grudge. I ex- 
humed your letters, and read such portions of them 
where you wrote to me about him. He said: 
‘Pray, send some day my profound respects to 
Madame de Montfriand, and say I think she was 
perfectly right in regard to me, and that I hope 
Pauline will always retain such a judicious friend.’ 
I have not told you all about M. Hugh. He was 
a colonel in the American War, and was engaged 
to be married, when, his death having been report- 
ed on the field of battle, the shock of the news 
killed hi^fiane^e, who was in delicate health. Poor 
girl ! I can understand it, for M. Hugh Percival 
— at least I think so — is just the kind of a man a 


PEACE. 


155 


woman would want to die for. I know I would. 
If love arrives late — for I am twenty-two, Cle- 
mence — when it does come it is very tumultuous. 
I have intentionally written you, Clemence, just 
as strongly as I could in regard to the man I shall 
marry. Bohe, that naughty dog, is sleeping at my 
feet. Poor fellow I he was dreadfully thin during 
the troubles, though we never thought of eating 
him — it seems, however, that Madame de Valbois 
devoured a Persian hound, no doubt with relish. 
Bobe barks outrageously whenever he sees a Prus- 
sian soldier ; it is part of an education I have 
given him. M. Hugh has scolded me several times 
about it, but papa encourages Bobe in his dislikes. 
Monsieur and Madame de Yalbois are here, and I 
have received Raoul’s congratulations. Madame, 
I regret to say, was rather more chary of her com- 
pliments. If only General de Frail were alive ! 
Hugh and I will raise a monument to his memory 
some day. Poor gentleman ! he was the bravest 
and most chivalric man France ever had. God 
rest his soul ! I must finish now, Clemence, dear. 
M. Percival sends you his kindest regards. Con- 
vey mine to monsieur your husband. 

‘‘ Ever your 

“ Pauline.” 

The ten days had swollen into a fortnight when 
at last M. Percival’s return was announced. It 
was a cheerful April morning, when Pauline sat 


156 


A STRUGGLE. 


by her father at a well-appointed breakfast-table. 
Pauline was radiant. 

“ Will you not drive with me to St.-Eloi, 
dear papa? For M. Percival is to be here at 
noon.” 

‘‘ Who ? I ? Will M. Percival arrive to- 
day ? ” 

“ Just as if you did not know it, when you have 
been passably cross ever since he left us ! ” 

“ The fact is, Pauline, I do miss him. I have 
taught him how to play cards, which is something, 
but whom could I get to talk iron with me during 
his absence ? Pauline, he is the most dreadfully 
self-opinionated man on subjects appertaining to 
metallurgy that I ever met with. When he is 
your husband, Pauline, depend upon it he will 
bully me.” 

‘‘Dear papa, you shock me. Has not Hugh 
been ever respectful to you — did he not nurse 
you ? ” 

“ So he did, my child ; only, when it comes to 
the question of a refractory ore, he holds opinions 
which are absolutely heretical ; and the worst of 
it is — that in practice he has almost always come 
out right.” 

“ Papa, papa ! pray, drop iron for the moment. 
The question is, will you ride with me this pleas- 
ant April morning ? ” 

“ Will your miserable little turnout hold three 
people ? ” 


PEACE. 


157 


“Hold three? How, papa? There will he 
you and I — ” Then the lady blushed crimson. 

“ And M. Percival, after having traveled night 
and day, must he walk here ? For matters have 
not been sufficiently organized by those wretched 
Germans, so that there is transportation between 
the town and the chateau. Send a servant with 
the little- carriage.” 

“ But, papa, you forget Andre is rheumatic and 
cannot drive ; and St.-Eloi has no longer its reti- 
nue of servants. I never thought how Hugh was 
to come back. That was very stupid of me.” 

“Well, Pauline, don’t think of my going to 
St.-Eloi. The sight of the Germans always en- 
rages me, and I should see hundreds of them.” 

“ Papa ! ” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ Would there be any harm in my driving alone 
to meet M. Percival ? ” 

“Xes convenances^ my child, would be out- 
raged, that is all.” 

“Xes convenances! so they might be. But, 
papa, when Hugh used to pile fagots on the sledge, 
I often sat on the bundles of wood alongside of 
him — I never, though, papa, rode beyond our own 
grounds. I forgot all about les convenances then. 
You were too ill then to know much about it. 
Papa, you are not horrified ? ” 

“ I do not know. I ought to be, I suppose. 
But the war-times are over now.” 


158 


A STRUGGLE. 


“Well, papa, you consent ? Ala honneheure. 
I shall go. iNTo one knows me at St.-Eloi — it is 
months since I have seen the poor old place. I 
snap my fingers at the Germans. Here goes, papa 
— d has les convenances / ” 

Kindly trotted the ponies, and easily howled 
along the little carriage, that carried the lady of 
St.-Eloi on her way to the station in the town. 
The grass was just springing up, and some trees 
were in bloom. The short three or four miles 
showed, it is true, where the enemy had passed. 
Dismantled farmhouses were not infrequent, and 
here and there a pile of charred embers told where 
some dwelling had been burned. Yet smoke might 
be seen curling from more than one chimney, and 
now and then a peasant was laboring in the fields. 
If no cock crew or dog barked, spring bird-s were 
twittering, and fiew busily around, building their 
nests. Away off in the distance swept the Vosges, 
blue, dark, and solemn, and the mountain-streams 
formed by the melting snow fiashed under the two 
bridges which were on the road to St.-Eloi. There 
was just one part of the route where, in other times, 
the tall chimneys of St.-Eloi could have been seen. 
Pauline seemed to look for them. They were gone. 
“ W ar is brutal,” she said. “ Poor papa and Hugh ! 
I can fancy Hugh’s brooding over the ruins, like a 
second Marius.” But sad ideas were soon dispelled 
as she approached the earthworks which surround- 
ed St.-Eloi. There were soldiers there, and Ger- 


PEACE. 


159 


man troops were being exercised. Officers with 
attenuated waists turned and gazed admiringly, 
though not impertinently, at perhaps the first lady 
from the neighborhood who had ventured within 
the town. Some carried politeness so far as to 
touch their hats to her. One quite young fellow 
on crutches hobbled up and said, in the best of 
French : “ If the lady will drive this way, taking 
this turn to the right, she will considerably shorten 
her journey. Fortifications are not easy to thread, 
and there is a very wet and insecure place just be- 
yond. You will excuse the liberty I am taking ? ” 
Pauline thanked him kindly, and followed his ad- 
vice ; she even smiled on him. ‘‘ Poor fellow,” 
she said to herself, “ it is worse to lose a leg than 
an arm ! ” Presently she was in the town, which 
was thronged with soldiers. Rattling along, she 
was soon at the depot. A train full of convales- 
cent German officers and troops had just stopped 
at the station. Busy hospital attendants were oc- 
cupied in caring for the suffering men. One pale 
face peered through the windows of the car, and 
then sank back from sight. In an instant the lady 
had alighted, and in her best German — for she 
spoke it fairly — she had begged an infantry-sol- 
dier to hold her little steeds, had slipped a five- 
franc piece in his hand. Then Pauline rushed 
to a surgeon who seemed to have the train in 
charge. 

“ You have, sir,” she said, all out of breath. 


160 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ an ill — a wounded officer on that train — a gen- 
tleman I take a great deal of interest in : once he 
was very kind to me. I am a Frenchwoman. The 
man looks ill to die— only rest and quiet and good 
nursing will restore him.” 

“Mademoiselle, there are some hundred such 
in the cars. Do you know his name ? ” asked the 
surgeon. 

“ Yes, yes ; it is Lieutenant Mtiller ! ” 

“ There is certainly an officer with that name 
and rank. Badly wounded, was he, at the bridge 
of Sevres ? ” 

“Yes. Would it be against your orders — in- 
jurious to his health — if I took him to St.-Eloi ? 
I live with my father in a chateau near here. I 
would nurse him as tenderly as I could.” 

“ Mademoiselle, it rests entirely with the offi- 
cer himself. He is on sick-leave. What you 
offer speaks well for your humanity. I will ask 
him.” 

Five minutes afterward Lieutenant Muller was 
in the pony-carriage. Said the gallant Bavarian 
in a singularly weak voice : 

“ Fair enemy, may I kiss your hand — that is, if 
I am strong enough to do it ? God bless you. 
Mademoiselle Delange ! ” And he cried like a 
child. 

“ There, sii*, you may kiss my hand — that is, 
after I have propped you up. — Thank you, sur- 
geon; that pillow will do. Pray take the rug and 


PEACE. 


161 


cover his feet. — There is my hand. You may kiss 
it after you swallow this glass of wine the surgeon 
offers you — always providing Colonel Percival 
will let you.” 

‘‘Ah, mademoiselle, and is Colonel Percival 
here ? When that bit of shell knocked the life 
out of me I thought of Bertha and then of Per- 
cival. Look, you, I have seen many a poor fel- 
low laid low, and never was touched before ! He 
is alive and well ? and you will take me to the 
chateau of St.-Eloi, and care for me ? ” 

“You had better not talk any more, lieuten- 
ant,” said the surgeon. 

“ But I will — I am better already, surgeon. 
— Mademoiselle, I want to ask you something 
quite a secret.” And Pauline’s pretty ear was 
bent down to him, and when he said his say 
her face was crimson. “ I thought so ; I knew 
it ! Mind, my life is in your charge, and both of 
you must get me well and strong for my Bertha’s 
sake.” 

“ I expect Colonel Percival every moment by 
the train. Now pray. Lieutenant Muller, do not 
say another word.” 

Then the surgeon came again and gave made- 
moiselle some advice as to the treatment Lieuten- 
ant Muller should receive. Now a very fierce and 
pomj)OUS old officer, with steel spectacles on his 
nose, and an iron cross with a whole handful of 
other decorations hanging on his breast, came up, 
11 


162 


A STRUGGLE. 


and fairly unbent, as be took off bis iron-spiked 
bat and showed a bead as smooth as a cannon-ball. 
He made a very elaborate though really feeling 
speech, half in French and half in German, all 
about a French lady who showed such kindness 
toward a German officer ; and when he talked, all 
the Other officers and soldiers took off their hats 
and placed the first-finger of their left hands on 
the seams of their pantaloons, for the speaker was 
a prince and a third or thirteenth cousin to King 
William himself. Before the bald-headed prince 
got entirely through, however, Pauline heard the 
other train arriving. 

“ Shall I wait for him, or go to him ? ” thought 
Pauline. “ He might miss me in this confusion. — 
Down with the proprieties, for I want to see him ! ” 
And, tripping up the stairs of the railroad-depot, 
she waited impatiently. Presently she found Per- 
cival before he saw her, and her hand was in his. 
“ I have come for you,” she whispered, with down- 
cast eyes, as he kissed her tenderly, and said, as if 
he had almost expected it : 

“Yes, darling; and you look so bright and 
happy and beautiful this morning’ ! ” 

It was the first compliment he had ever paid 
her, for she was surpassingly lovely, and so dain- 
tily appareled — for now Madame de Montfriand’s 
wardrobe had been carefully looked over and 
brought under contribution. 

“ Do — do American women ever come alone to 


PEACE. 


163 


railroads in search of the men they are to marry ? ” 
timidly asked Pauline. 

“ Indeed, Pauline, I hardly know. If you ask 
me, as a general rule in certain classes of society, 
I should think they did not.” 

“You are not offended with me? Then there 
is such a thing as les convenances even in that 
wild country of yours ? I am glad I came for 
you. Have you been quite well, and enjoyed 
yourself in civilization once more ? I have been 
just miserable without you. Papa — all of us are 
so anxious to see you ! It was two days ago that 
Babette and Andre commenced to make prepara- 
tions for your return. It seems so strange that you 
should have left us even for two weeks, dear Hugh ! 
I have something to tell you. It is good news. 
Lieutenant Muller is not dead.” 

“ Thank God for that ! ” 

“ He is now, at this very present moment, in 
my little phaeton. I am going to carry him to 
St.-Eloi. He is di’eadfully weak and miserable, 
and you and I will nurse him.” 

“You are an angel, Pauline ; this is indeed the 
best of news ! Do take me to him.” 

“ I was counting on what a pleasant tete-d-tete 
we should have had — you and I, only two of us — 
in the carriage ; but there is room for three. 
How busy I shall be at the chateau ! You cannot 
engross all my time ; Lieutenant Muller shall have 


164 


A STRUGGLE. 


some of it ; then you will not get tired of me and 
want to leave me again.” 

But Pauline evidently did not mean what she 
said, for she laughed gayly and happily. 

“ But I have been very bold with you, Hugh ! 
It was wrong in me to have come for you — driving 
here through such a crowd of soldiers, brazen- 
like ! I think I am growing to be effrontee — I see 
it all now. But papa said I might.” 

‘‘ Had you not come, Pauline, you might never 
have found Muller.” 

Then away went the two to the carriage, where 
Lieutenant Muller was reclining in state. A few 
kind words of manly greeting were exchanged be- 
tween the two men. How the little horses had 
their bridles loosed, and Pauline, reins in hand, 
drove gently off. A guard turned out for them, 
presented arms, and all the officers assembled sa- 
luted, and the cheering was general. 

‘‘ Pauline, this is in your honor,” said Percival. 

“My eyes are so full of tears, Hugh, that I 
can’t see which way these wretched little brutes 
are going. I feel sure that I shall tumble you all 
out into one of these ditches these barbarous Ger- 
mans have been digging here.” 

Then one of the horses felt the whip, and the 
danger was cleared. 

By dint of good nursing Muller got well. It 
was Pauline who wrote the first letter for him to 


PEACE. 


165 


his Bertha. The fact that a German officer was 
being cared for by the inmates of the chateau of 
St.-Eloi caused many a favor to be granted them. 
While Mtiller was convalescent a decoration was 
sent him, and with it came a handsome bracelet 
for Mademoiselle Delange from the officers in 
Lieutenant Muller’s regiment. With the gift 
came a complimentary note, signed by no less a 
person than a Bavarian field-marshal. Pauline 
raged over it ; but kept the bracelet — or, rather, 
it was put in charge of M. Percival. 

“ Bury it, Hugh ; when Alsace is French again 
I will wear it, never before ! ” 

M. Delange and the Bavarian had it out often 
together, hot and heavy. The German bore it 
good-humoredly. Victors can always afford to be 
magnanimous. 

“ ‘ The hands of France are never so dangerous 
to her neighbors as when they are fettered, and 
she strikes abroad with the chains that bind her.’ 
These are not my words, M. le Bavarois. It is an 
Englishman who wrote that. M. Percival showed 
it to me.” 

WTiat ! the colonel, too, against me ? ” 

Listen ; there is more of it : ‘ When a French- 
man feels himself most little as a citizen, he be- 
comes most ambitious of the greatness of his 
nation.’ I have learned it by heart.” 

“ Simple book-texts ! What does an English- 
man know about it ? ” 


166 


A STRUGGLE. 


“ But history, sir — ^history shows us that every 
force splits itself to pieces when it has reached its 
maximun^ that every power which proclaims it- 
self absolute meets its punishment the very instant 
its pride is at its height.” 

‘‘ Exactly ; it is the history of France. Ger- 
many has not arrived yet^at her maximum of 
strength. I hope she will wait a while — until I 
get quite well. Then, when absolutism comes, I 
may be a field-marshal.” 

In time Lieutenant Muller left for Munich. 

There was a grand council held at St.-Eloi. 
Should M. Percival and Pauline be married there ? 
M. Delange decided in the negative. As St.-Eloi 
was to be sold, and to be delivered within the 
month, a marriage there he declared was impos- 
sible. 

“ My daughter shall never be married save on 
French soil. I will allow no such sacrilege. Here 
we are becoming half German already ! ” 

It was decided that M. Percival should go to 
Besan9on, and wait there for M. Delange and 
Pauline ; and so it came to pass, for, a fortnight 
after Muller’s departure, M. Percival bade good- 
by to Pauline for a week, and to St.-Eloi for- 
ever. It was in some respects a sad parting for 
Pauline. 

associate you with St.-Eloi, Hugh,” she 
said, “ but I cannot be German, though some two 
or more centuries ago my ancestors were German 


PEACE. 


167 


— at least my mother’s forefathers were. Let us 
go over the grounds together. Some day we may 
come hack again — who knows ? ” Then they went 
all over the place, even to the neighboring field 
where French and Germans lay buried, and Pau- 
line cried until her heart seemed broken with re- 
calling the memories of the sad and happy days 
she had passed at St.-Eloi. “ I have only you and 
papa to love now, and I trust in you. Perhaps 
the preparations for my marriage will make me 
forget the many pangs I feel on quitting poor St.- 
Eloi. I warrant you, you have been to the old 
usine — eh, M. Percival?” 

“ I have, Pauline. Should it please God that 
the works at St. -Etienne are ever built, at least 
one stone of the old usine shall he placed in the 
foundations of the new one.” 

“ Fa, what a funny sentiment ! But perhaps 
you are right. I claim the privilege, Hugh, of 
placing that stone in the new factory some day. 
It must bring us luck.” 

At Besan9on the two were married. Said the 
sacristan of the church, after the ceremony : “ May 
it be lucky to monsieur and madame, for this is our 
first marriage — at least of any consequence — since 
the war.” Immediately after the marriage M. 
Delange, accompanied by his daughter, her hus- 
band, Andre, and Babette, sought the most quiet 
of all the departments of France, which is Savoy. 
In three days’ time, skirting the Jura, they reached 


168 


A STRUGGLE. 


Annecy. Here, after a week’s rest, M. Delange 
said : “ Pauline, Andre can take care of me. An- 
dre assures me that I am in the way with you mar- 
ried people. I think I am. Bahette will, of course, 
remain with you. France will want to strain every 
sinew to recover all she has lost. It is time for me 
to commence work. It will take some months be- 
fore my plans can be arranged. I shall go to St.- 
Etienne. The contre-mattre and his wife are on a 
holiday. Take my advice, and stay here until 
you are tired of it. It is a pretty place, and a 
quiet one. I saw a little villa yesterday which 
pleased me so much that I have rented it for you. 
Hire a servant or two, and live there for a while. 
When autumn comes go to Paris, see your friends 
there — that is, if the Commune does not murder 
them all. (See what miseries these Germans have 
brought on us !) Then come to St. -Etienne and 
j oin me. Good-by, my d ear little woman — and, M. 
Percival, your hand.” Then the former master 
of St.-Eloi left them. 

The two people staid in their quiet provincial 
home for months, unknown and supremely happy. 
It was fully four months later before a move was 
made for Paris, and then the civil strife was all 
over — almost forgotten — for France heals her scars 
as rapidly as she wounds herself. 

‘‘ I am dying to see Clemence. I shall go there 
this afternoon, Hugh. You bear her no ill-will, do 
you ? ” 


PEACE. 


169 


“Why, Panline, none in the least ; I shall only 
be too glad to know all my good little woman’s 
friends.” 

“ Then I will go first, and pray join me there 
afterward.” 

It was late in the afternoon when M. Percival 
called. Madame de Montfriand’s drawing-room 
was crowded. It seemed that on this occasion 
many of the friends ©f the house, whom the war 
had separated, had accidentally come together 
again. As M. Percival entered, he saw his wife 
and a lady in the closest conversation. 

“ My peace, I trust, is made. Pauline has a 
miniature which must be that of the lady, her 
friend Clemence. Though I am under the glare 
of a dozen women’s eyes, why should I be the 
centre of so much attraction? Decidedly it is 
very embarrassing.” 

It had happened in this way. In the midst 
of the warmest confidences, after Pauline, with 
her usual impetuosity, had poured out all her soul 
to her friend, Madame de Montfriand, who had 
laughed and cried over her story, said : 

“But who is that slightly-built gentleman 
there? I do not recognize him. He does not 
look like a Frenchman. Still, he has a bit of red 
ribbon in his button-hole. Ah, mon Dieu ! Pau- 
line, he is looking straight at you, as if he had a 
right to do so. Do not blush so. He has an 
empty sleeve. It must be my Pauline’s husband. 


170 


A STRUGGLE. 


It is this famous M. Percival. My dear, you could 
not have made, as far as appearances go, a more 
elegant choice. The man is distinction itself. — 
Pray, M. de Montfriand, go and welcome Pauline’s 
husband.” 

‘‘ Ya, Parisienne that you are ! ” said Pauline, 
somewhat demurely. “ It is, indeed, my lord and 
master. I do not think dress improves him, though 
I think I might have tied his ♦cravat more neatly. 
Absolutely, Clemence, I never saw him in full 
toilet before. They gave him the ribbon because 
he was so devoted to our many poor people after 
the Germans captured St.-Eloi. My first real 
quarrel with him was about the acceptance of his 
decoration. Would you believe it, he wanted to 
refuse it, saying he had done nothing at all ? But, 
C14mence, since our marriage, he is much more 
tractable than he used to be. I liked him, though, 
just as well, when I patched his clothes for him ; 
for I have seen him quite out of elbows, because 
he had given his coat away to a poor peasant who 
hadn’t any clothes at all. You shall listen to me, 
Clemence ; I would have mended his shoes for 
him, if only I had known how ! He used to dig 
frost-bitten potatoes for us, my fine lady, when we 
were starving. It was not for his good looks I 
married him, but because he was the most devoted 
friend to me and my father, and brought us, and 
many others, through a sea of miseries with that 
single hand of his ; and, C16mence, he was as proud 


PEACE. 


171 


as Lucifer, and as I live, and am not ashamed to 
tell it, if I had not unbent somewhat before him 
— ungrateful wretch that I was ! — I do believe he 
never would have married me. — M. Percival, I am 
glad you are here at last. This is Madame la 
Comtesse de Montfriand, the judicious Clemence 
of my letters ! ’*■ 


THE END. 





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